


you and all of heaven's other wonders

by devilinmybrain (venomedveins)



Series: of the divine [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bar Fight, Blood, Guardian Angel, Louis is an adrenaline junkie, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Violence, genderless Harry, motocycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/devilinmybrain
Summary: "Louis Tomlinson." He starts, the deep voice dipping just a little in the seriousness of his tone. "As a child of the Most Holy, Heaven has seen your struggle on this earth and heard your cry. My name is - " At this point, he does something complicated with his throat, a sound much like a screeching bird and bells combined together before he continues. "and I have been sent here to be your guiding light. Fear not for the Lord is with you.""What?" Louis' accent comes out thicker in his disbelief, dropping consonants as he blinks up at the man."I'm your-" The man shifts his weight, hesitantly bringing his hands together in front of him. It's an endearingly nervous habit. "I'm your guardian angel."
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: of the divine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186577
Comments: 28
Kudos: 81





	you and all of heaven's other wonders

**Author's Note:**

> Holy moly! This thing was supposed to be a little fic for the [Secret Larry Valentine](http://secretlarryvalentine.tumblr.com) on tumblr and somehow it grew into what is probably going to be a series. This is a gift for [vellichorthing](https://vellichorthing.tumblr.com/) who prompted anything with wings or mermaids. I hope you like this dear!
> 
> I first have to thank [daffodilsforlou](https://daffodilsforlou.tumblr.com/) for being my partner in crime. This fest and this fic would have never happened without your support and friendship. Thank you for rambling with me about Harry and wings and Louis being a disaster. I absolutely adore you. 
> 
> Secondly, [tomlinbuns](https://tomlinbuns.tumblr.com/). My love, who wasn't even in this fest but let me freak out over every tiny details. Thank you for betaing me on literally the last second. Couldn't have done it without you. 
> 
> And lastly, thank you to everyone who I talked about this fic to - [halosboat](https://halosboat.tumblr.com/), [hershelsue](https://hershelsue.tumblr.com/), and [harrystinyshorts](https://harrystinyshorts.tumblr.com). And anyone else who I might have missed that let me word vomit on them.

_  
All Harry can feel is pain. It radiates from the very center of his chest, over the tops of his shoulders, down along his spine. Every feather of his wings ache in tandem, rustling and unsettled, the curve of one fighting to be able to unfurl. It is not completely broken but badly bruised, possibly fractured._

_The cat of nine tails lashes out again, catches the softness along Harry's spine - a spray of downy white feathers soaked in gold blood splatter along the marble floor to his left. Harry's wrists have gone numb from where they are held together, the metal edges of his cuffs fused so he cannot fight his punishment._

_"Again!" Gabriel's voice, his burning inferno, lashes through Harry's skull. He is high ranking enough that he's barely resembling a human form anymore, just a pillar of blinding light inside peeling skin._

_"An an-angel shall not-" Harry cries out, his voice cracking as he tries to remember the words. He's had to say them so often, has been witness to this punishment on countless others, like the faces of his brothers and sisters watching now. "Shall not change the will of the Most Holy."_

_The whip drags along Harry's waist, over his flank, down to his thighs. It won't leave marks forever, will be covered up in time, be forgiven because although God is a wrathful father, he also covers his tracks. Harry knows it will feel better eventually, though not all scars are ones left visible._

_"An angel shall not make themselves known to a human or mankind unless instructed." Harry struggles to get out, hisses the words through a mouth full of blood._

_"Say them louder!" Gabriel smacks the whip down again, this time the edge of one catching the side of Harry's neck. Blood soaks along his chest, slicks him gold from the sound._

_"An angel shall not d-" Harry's voice goes high, cracks in agony as the leather straps catch his wings again. "An angel shall not-"_

_Suddenly, Gabriel's hand is in Harry's hair, ripping his face up from where he had been resting on his biceps. The feeling of his fingers against Harry's crown feel like a brand, burning and twisting, a festering wound. Through the haze, he sees other angels turn away, sees their sorrowful and terrified faces. Public punishment is a requirement._

_"Say it, Harolica." Gabriel's mouth curves around Harry's ear, his words like sparks against his face. "Say it and see your father's forgiveness make you new."_

_"An angel-" Harry's mouth trembles, his lips wet with blood, his whole body covered in carnage and gold. "An angel shall not delight in mortal pleasures or seek the upmost vengeance of God."_

_It was not a pleasure. It was a moment of sorrow for a grieving mother, a brief reprieve for her to know her child was safe, in the arms of the lord. Harry only showed enough to sooth. It was a kindness - a sympathy. But angels do not delight in the emotions of humans. They do not feel what humans feel, are not given the capacity to anguish or joy or hate or love. They are tools and nothing more. They cannot touch._

_"Ask for it." Gabriel's kiss on his cheek leaves a sweltering blister and Harry is too weak to pull away from it. "And see yourself washed anew."_

_"Father." Harry feels his legs give out then, slumps onto his side on the cold marble floor. "Forgive me."_

\- - -

The first thing Louis notices when he wakes up is the pain. The pulling of skin against his stitches, his forehead throbbing where the flesh is split just above his eyebrow. The doctor had warned him that it would scar badly if Louis messed with it, that he should leave it alone, but there isn't much to be done now. It's not like it's Louis' fault that he took an errant beer bottle to the face. He's lucky it didn't take out his eye. The guy was a fucking dickhead anyway and deserved everything Louis said to him - drunk or not.

The second thing he takes note of is that it's still late, or at least early morning. The darkness of the room only broken up by the street light gleaming through the blinds, sharp lines of it cut through with shadow. It's still early on enough that Louis isn't feeling the hangover yet, head woozy but not pounding, a slight churning in his stomach from the mixture of whiskey and sweet and sour mix. It's making him hot, body feverish and sweaty under the sheets, the fabric sticking to his naked skin. He must be still wasted because the third thing he notices is the man.

Or, at least Louis thinks it's a man.

Someone is perched on the very end of his bed, their hips on the footboard and their feet on the mattress. The broken light through the blinds helps illuminate him, glimmering over his long bare arms, down across the dress he's wearing, fabric silky and pearlescent. It's split up the front in two long lines, the skirt falling away around milky thighs, down to smooth calves that end in a golden cuff each. It feels like something out of a dream, really, the man's lovely face watching Louis with a sort of rapt awe, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. And it must be, because there are wings - huge and arching high enough they nearly brush the low hanging ceiling light. Even in the dark, they seem to give off the faintest glow, the whole of them covered in what looks like delicate white feathers.

"'S bit early for Halloween, love." Louis grits out, his voice a garbled mess with sleep and alcohol. He flops onto his back to see better, tosses an arm above his head and under to prop himself up a bit.

“Oh.” The man tilts his head to the side, his long hair spilling over his shoulder in a tumble of dark waves. It lets in more of the street light from outside, a wash of pale, yellow falling over the cut of his jaw, his wide eyes, the soft curve of his full mouth. “You can see me?”

He grasps his hands together before him, long fingers steepled in a nervous sort of way, and Louis notices the gold bands around his wrists. These ones are smaller than his anklets, the metal looking dainty around the soft curve of his arm. It's an odd accessory, both of them clasped tight to his skin, not dangling like a bracelet normally would.

“Vividly.” Louis’ eyes are fighting against him, blinking slow as he rolls onto his back. And what the fuck was in that drink Zayn gave him? Cause there is no way this isn’t a hallucination, a drunk daydream. People with a face like that don’t exist outside of fantasies and late night imagining.

“You shouldn’t be able to see me.” The man shifts around, his knees knocking together. In the vaguest of ideas, just a glimmer in the dark, Louis swears he sees a hint of gold across his forehead – a shimmering ring.

Louis has a reply, he does, but all he manages to get out is a faint grunt and then he's asleep again.

\- - -

The second time Louis wakes up, it's much later in the day and warm sunlight is streaming through the open curtains, traffic loud outside. This time, the hangover has had time to settle in and he barely makes it to the bathroom before Louis’ emptying his stomach. It's always worse first thing, the bitter taste of sour mix and the burn of whiskey feeling like it's shredding Louis' throat as he upheaves into the toilet basin. This is all Niall’s fault. Niall who had taken Louis’ order of vodka cranberry and had slid an electric yellow drink across the bar instead, tossed a cherry in with a wink.

Damn the Irish.

Stumbling into the shower, Louis lets the hot water beat down on his back while he brushes his teeth, spitting into the tub next to his feet. He grimaces through hand fulls of warm water that he uses to rinse his mouth out and then drink, soothing his throat. It's not the most glamorous of cures, his stomach gurgling angrily at him, but at least Louis' mouth doesn't taste like garbage anymore. He doesn't have to be in to work tonight, thank god, so Louis lets himself linger. A good shower can cure anything, Louis' mum used to say, and she's never wrong so. And it does, it eases some of his headache away, relaxes the knots at the base of his neck.

Louis comes out with a towel around his waist and what feels like a pretty okay head, at least it's not pounding anymore. It all goes to wash the moment he spots the man again though. The warm sunlight spills in through the window, back lighting him and gleaming across his dark curls, over the soft curve of his bare shoulders. It's almost sinful, the way he's curled up in the center of Louis' messy sheets, looking ruffled and incredibly pretty, one knee pulled up to his chest. It makes the fabric of his dress pool around him in silk ripples, the slit falling open around his thigh and further, exposing the length of his hipbone. With a hand on his knee, he rests his cheek against the curve of his bone, watching Louis carefully.

The wings are still there, this time folded along his back, the very ends of the feathers splayed out amongst the sheets and thrown pillows. Louis gets the sudden urge to walk around him, to see where they connect, because there are no straps to be seen, even the dress seeming just be held up by a thin ribbon at the back of his neck. He looks _decadent_ and Louis suddenly feel very underdressed.

"You're still here."

Louis scratches the side of his nose. He doesn't remember hooking up with anyone last night. When he had woken up, sure he had felt gross, but the type of gross that comes from drinking and sweating all night - not sex. Not the type of wild debauchery Louis thinks he'd get up to with a guy that looks like this. But then why else would someone be here? If he were that blackout drunk, surely Zayn or Liam wouldn't have let him take someone home. They’re supposed to look out for each other.

"And you can still see me." The man slowly lifts his head, blinks those large, green eyes up at Louis.

"Yep." Louis pops the last letter, glances around the room. There are no clothes spread out on the floor, no bottle of lube tossed carelessly on his nightstand. Hell, even his phone is plugged in.

"Can you see-" He pauses, a hand going into his hair, shifting the curls around before he tucks a few behind his ear. "Can you see all of me?"

"I can see you." Louis repeats lamely, considers reaching for the joggers carelessly tossed on top of his hamper. But then he seems to understand the man's meaning, brow wrinkling. "The wings?"

"Oh." As if on cue, the wings give a sharp shudder, expanding only for a moment before snapping back into place. Louis can't even rationalize it, can't even begin to try. It has to be an expensive prop, something from a film. Doesn't know why the guy has them, or is wearing them, but Louis is more concerned with why he's still here and less about his fashion choices. He's about to continue, already starts opening his mouth, when the man beats him to it.

"Do you know who I am?"

He doesn't say it harshly, not like he's offended that Louis forgot his name. Instead, he seems genuinely curious, face upturned and lovely in the sunlight. It seems to illuminate the small gold flecks of glitter in his hair, the soft sheen gleaming through the feathers of his wings. It makes him look like he's glowing again.

"I, um." Louis scratches again at the back of his neck. "Look, pet, I was obviously very drunk last night. If I did something or said something or if we... _did_ something, I'm sorry. I really don't remember."

The man's brow slowly furrows, his whole face curving down into a soft pout. It would be almost cute, almost endearing, if Louis weren’t trying desperately to wrack his brain for any memory, any vague hint that he knows who this guy is. All he's coming up with is blurry images. He knows he went to the bar last night. Knows he played some pool. Knows he got in a bit of a scuffle with a guy who was feeling up one of the waitresses. Liam and Zayn had to drag him outside before the bouncer got involved. There was another bar. Body shots maybe? Zayn took his bike. But he doesn't remember anyone remotely looking like the guy before him. And Louis _knows_ he would remember a guy like this.

Seeming to sense his confusion and being done with it, the man suddenly stands up. He just stands there, balanced in the center of Louis' unmade bed, head tilted high. From this angle, Louis can barely make out the vaguest of shapes - a gleam right across his forehead - like a ray of sunshine that looks a little too concrete to be just light. It also glows through his wings, through the thin fabric of his dress - illuminating the shadow of his body and yep, there is nothing under it but lots of bare skin.

"Louis Tomlinson." He starts, the deep voice dipping just a little in the seriousness of his tone. "As a child of the Most Holy, Heaven has seen your struggle on this earth and heard your cry. My name is - " At this point, he does something complicated with his throat, a sound much like a screeching bird and bells combined together before he continues. "and I have been sent here to be your guiding light. Fear not for the Lord is with you."

"What?" Louis' accent comes out thicker in his disbelief, dropping consonants as he blinks up at the man.

"I'm your-" The man shifts his weight, hesitantly bringing his hands together in front of him. It's an endearingly nervous habit. "I'm your guardian angel."

Louis' laughter fills the room, loud and boisterous, springing out of his chest. He doubles over a little, has to grip the towel around his waist in a tight fist to keep it from dropping. This has to be a prank, a joke by the boys. Leave it to Zayn to find it funny if Louis brought home a religious zealot for a quick shag. That has to be it. Has to be for laughs and suddenly Niall or Liam is gonna give him a ring. Or the guy will break character. It'll all be for bants and yeah, they got one over on the Tommo.

It doesn't happen though. The man steps down off the bed, his wings fluttering a little with the movement, snapping open and then shut. They're so long they nearly brush the backs of his knees, the downy feathers along the base fluffed up and soft. He comes to stand close to Louis and then closer, only a few inches taller with bare feet on the hardware. Louis' laughter dies in his throat, pitters off into nothing as he just stands there - brow furrowed and watching.

"You can't be-" Louis hiccups a little, shaking his head, "You can't honestly think I'd believe you."

"But I am." The man shifts his weight. He's so close that Louis could raise his head and brush their noses together. "I've been assigned-"

"Look." Louis cuts him off. The joke has gone a little stale the longer the guy looks at him like that, so earnest. And yeah, maybe Zayn thought Louis taking home a cult member (albeit a cult member who is absolutely stunning) was a joke, but it all falls a bit flat at the end.

"I don't know what happened last night, and I'm sorry for it. I really am." Louis drags his eyes appreciatively down the length of the man's body. The dress is gathered at the waist and Louis is fairly sure his entire arm could fit around the slim cut of it. "But I'm not interested in joining your...er...organization. So, if you'd kindly head out. I'd be obliged. Thanks."

Louis isn't above grabbing the guy's arm, is already reaching for it, when he suddenly raises it out of the way. It's not to jerk away though, not to back up, instead he just raises his hand. Louis doesn't even get a chance to flinch as the man's fingers linger just above his forehead, almost as if he means to tap Louis' eyebrow with his middle finger. The touch never comes though. Instead, a sharp burn spreads through his head, fleeting like when you bump your knuckles against a hot kettle. It's there and then it's over.

Instinctually, Louis' hand flies up to his forehead, means to reel back, but he's caught dumb when his fingers brush against smooth skin. Once, where there had been angry flesh pulled tight against stiches, the skin bruised and puckered, now is just smooth. There isn't even a scar, not even a faint suggestion of where Louis took a bottle to the face from a two-hundred-pound arsehole with a slurring mouth.

"Wha-" Louis' mouth just hangs open, watches the indulgent grin take over the man's face. And great, he has dimples.

"Do not fear." He murmurs, lowers his hand down. "God has you in his hand and I have been sent as a vessel of his love to protect you."

And what the fuck? Louis just stares at him, his mouth hanging open into a small o. The man doesn’t seem to be bothered by it though, just continues to stand there, grinning at Louis. Not like Louis’ entire mental state is in a disarray and he’s bombarded with the thought that he’s pretty sure he can smell lilacs. And also, what the fuck?

"What did you say your name was again?" Louis' voice has gone high, brittle in a way it hasn't been since before he was twelve.

The man opens his mouth, lets out that screeching bell noise again, and then stops, wincing a little. "Sorry, I forgot. Human ears. Um, you may call me what you like but I believe my name in your tongue would be Harry."

\- - -

Huddled at the kitchen table, Louis stares down into his tea cup, the tan liquid having gone luke warm the longer he's stared at it. He hadn't said anything else, had just wandered away from Harry, gone to get clothes on. Louis had considered calling Zayn, asking him to come over and check if he was hallucinating. If there was a gas leak or maybe Louis had been slipped something last night - anything to explain why he was literally watching an angel linger in the doorway of his bedroom.

Harry had seemed content to give him some space, stepping out into the living room as Louis scrambled to pull on pants, rationalize a little. He looks so incredibly out of place - a stark white beacon among the graffiti art on the walls, the mess of a big flatscreen and gaming consoles, of the ratty quilt thrown over Louis' dumpster saved couch. Where before, Louis’ flat had looked homey – looked lived in. Harry makes it seem like a trash pit next to his faintly glowing skin.

And Louis is trying to understand. He is. But he doesn't. Why would God send him a guardian angel? Louis has never been religious. He never grew up religious, only having suffered through a service the few times some distant relative died or got married. He's not even sure he's been Christened, should probably call his mum and ask.

But then, it also doesn't make any sense because Louis isn't anyone special. He isn't worthy of having a gift like this. If it's even a gift. And suddenly, Louis is angry. Why the fuck would God waste protection on him? Louis isn't out there curing cancer or solving world problems? He's not someone of importance or significance at all. He's just a bloke from Doncaster, works in a bar a few blocks from his shitty flat. Drinks too much. Smokes more. Has a string of people who have seen him naked but never felt anything more. Sure, he has a great family. Loves his mum and his over abundance of siblings. Is a good friend, a decent lad. But not worth all this.

"Not to sound ungrateful," Louis begins, a bite already in his tone, "but I'm not sure you have the right guy. Wouldn't your er, _resources_ , be better used on someone worth guarding? Someone trying to better the world? Or someone suffering?"

"It is all part of God's plan." Harry replies smoothly. He's standing by the far wall, his wings just barely brushing the dented plaster when Louis and Liam had been wrestling a few weeks ago and fallen into it.

"Seems a bit cruel, don't it though?" Louis asks sharply. "To waste it on someone who doesn't even believe in the bloke. Why can't you go cure those UNICEF children or go help one of those Mother Theresa types? I never asked for this."

"All humans are looked after and loved by the Most Holy. Everyone has their own purpose and their own plan." Harry's wings twitch again, stretching out across the wall. They stop when they go to brush against something, easily spread ten feet. "I have been assigned to you. As it was commanded, so it shall be done."

"You can't honestly believe that bullshit." Louis groans, rolls his eyes. "What if I don't want you? Can't you quit? Ask for a new assignment?"

Harry's expression flickers, just the hint of a frown pulling at his mouth. He takes a moment to respond, and in it, his wings suddenly snap shut, curved over him almost like a blanket would, hiding his arms. Louis doesn't have to be fluent in angel to know it's a defensive, protective move.

"I-" Harry digs his toes into the edge of the rug. "I don't-I've been assigned. I go where Heaven tells me I am needed.”

"And?" Louis scoffs, can't help the way he's words come out scathing and cruel. "Why now? Why me?”

“It is part of God’s plan.” Harry repeats himself, shrugs his shoulders a bit, jostling his wings. “We are not meant to know what God has in store for us. We are only meant to serve him and give him glory. If the Lord tells me to go to you, then that is what I do. It is a sin to question the will of God.”

“Yeah, I know all about what your God considers to be sins.” Louis’ eyes flicker over to the painting on the wall, one of Zayn’s most recent. It’s fairly black and white, harsh lines cast over one another, vicious and aggressive. And yet, in the very far part of it, a small, bright rainbow – though tattered and worn – can be seen in through the dark.

“We are all servants to the Most Holy.” Harry murmurs, his voice soft now, even as he steps around the couch, draws up near the table. “Just because you do not believe in him, doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe in you. I am evidence of that now. I have been assigned to keep you safe, to protect you. How can you say that is not the showing of love?”

“Sounds to me like an exchange. A blackmail. He protects me and what do I do for him?” Louis raises an eyebrow, watches Harry squirm a bit. “And what happened to the last human God wanted you to look after? Did he follow God’s plan?"

Looking up sharply, Harry's mouth trembles a little, his cheeks gone rosy. It seems like it takes him a while to be able to get the words out, and when they come, they’re barely above a whisper.

"He died."

Louis stares at him, watches him closely. It's odd to study something that is so clearly not of this world. Harry, in the right light, seems to be giving off the faintest gleam - a soft glow that makes his edges blur against the sharp cut of the artwork behind him. Louis can see where his wings protrude from his back, the sharp cut of them against his warm skin. His mannerisms, the pout on his mouth, the crease of his brow, feel so very human, and yet the gleam across his temples - a vague outline - reminds Louis that he very much is not.

But it's not what has Louis' heart lurching though. It's the way Harry has curved in on himself, so incredibly human, so mortal, it almost feels too vulnerable for someone literally made out of fantasy.

"I'm sorry you did not want this gift." Harry mumbles a little, stares at his feet. "But, this is God's plan. And there is a purpose behind him. Just like there is a reason you can see me when no one else can."

"No one?" Louis asks, surprised.

"No." Harry glances up then, his face still pink. "Not even the most devote can see an angel unless God wills it. So, there must be a reason. And I cannot disobey the will of Heaven. I am bound to you. To be your protection and guard."

Thinking back, Louis remembers he used to have a friend whose family was Catholic. They used to have a large statue of the angel Michael on their mantel, his short toga tied up with a chest plate and sword raised above his head. His sandaled foot had been pressing the face of Lucifer into the stone ground, a look of utter disgust and fury etched into his porcelain face. Looking at Harry now, wrapped in silk and sunlight, Louis can't imagine him having that cruelty in his eyes, that rage. He looks like something out of a dream, all soft lines and bright.

Louis may not understand it, may not like it, but he can admit he's intrigued. The least he can do is let it happen and try to figure it all out later anyways.

He's saved a moment later from trying to rationalize it when his stomach suddenly gives an upset gurgle, disrupting the quiet stillness they had fallen into. It seems that the alcohol has burned a hole through him as Louis realizes he's ravenous, the tea forgotten as he moves from the table.

"Alright, well, what are you meant to do then? Follow me around?" Louis asks, shakes his ankles out as he stands. He really needs to get some water into him, can feel his joints cracking.

"I am here to guide and protect you." Harry nods, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Okay. Well." Making his way to the entrance hall, Louis shoves his feet into his Vans, grabbing up his keys and wallet. "I'm starving. So, I'm going to get a fry up. Feel free to tag along and save me from my impending doom, yeah?"

He says it in a way that is meant for teasing. Honestly, Louis isn't convinced he's not out somewhere lying in a gutter, tripping out on E and hallucinating this whole thing. And Zayn is going to feel really shit about it. And Liam is gonna have a heart attack when he finds out. And maybe Niall will cry a bit when they finally find him. But until that dramatic conclusion, Louis figures he might as well just roll with it. And Harry's faint smile feels like a reward.

They make it out of the flat without an issue, everyone probably at work or at school this late in the morning. Harry's bare feet don’t even make a sound on the linoleum, oddly graceful as he follows Louis down the stairs, keeping his wings tucked tight along his back. It's not until the lobby that the problem starts.

Mrs. Ramirez is huddled against one of the far walls, digging through her mailbox, when Louis' sneakers make a noise on the floor, the staircase door banging open. She turns then, recognition smoothing out the wrinkles in her face, hand even raised in greeting before her dark eyes snap just over Louis' shoulders. Instantly, the letters that had just been clutched in her fist fall to the floor, the thin pages of the circular scattering in a rustling of paper

“Hey Mrs. Ramirez,” Louis greets, waves his hand a little at her. They’ve come to a bit of an unconventional friendship, the two of them. Louis helps her carry her groceries to her flat sometimes and in exchange, Louis often finds tupperware containers of tamales left on his doorstep.

"Ay, DiOs Mío!" Her voice bounces around the vacant lobby, echoing off the marble floor, the vaulted ceiling. She isn’t even looking at Louis, doesn’t even see him, just keeps staring at Harry who is so close he’s basically pressed to Louis’ back.

She starts backing up, vigorously doing the sign of the cross over herself the longer the two of them stand there. Louis watches the way her little legs move, bumping roughly into the wall and then freezing, her wrinkled hands clenching together before her chest. It's with incredibly careful movements that she drops to her knees, a strand of beads fumbled out from her pocket, bright red and spaced out with little gold clasps.

"Santa María, Madre de Dios.” She begins, her thumb rucking through the beads as if she were counting them. “Ruega por nosotros pecadores. Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén!"

The moment she finishes, she starts praying again, glancing up with every word to the pair still lingering in the doorway. It's not until she starts the prayer the third time that Louis is suddenly back peddling, forcing Harry back as well.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell! Go!" Louis hisses, turns and uses his arms to usher Harry back up the stairwell. "I thought you said humans couldn't see you!"

"They can't!" Harry's voice has a frantic lit to it, scrambling through the doorway and back into Louis' hallway. This time, he’s less careful, his wings hitting the doorframe, scattering white feathers down along the stained carpet of the hallway. Louis thinks about picking them up, but he’s too desperate to get them back to his apartment.

"Well, she wasn't fucking praying to me, mate!" Louis manages to wrench his flat's door open, letting Harry in first before following inside.

He has more to say, head spinning a little with how real this suddenly feels, when Louis' train of thought kind of just stops. When they had left, Louis had been leading the way, expecting Harry to follow, so he hadn't gotten a real look at him. Now though, he has full access to see his back – to see his _wings_.

His curls are disheveled and messy from running up the stairs, the ribbon at the base of his neck half untied so the silk strands hang loose down between his shoulder blades. Harry is all smooth, porcelain skin. Alabaster without even a freckle in sight. Centered just off his spine, the skin splits around the base of each wing, the bone curved sharply and covered in tiny, downy feathers. They grow in length and width the further up Harry's wings they go, each one laid perfectly on top of each other, twitching and shaking in irritation as Harry paces just inside of the kitchen. They knock into the cabinets with soft whacks, the bar lights swinging when Harry turns too quickly.

"I don't understand. This has never happened." Harry is muttering, his hands coming together to clasp, holding them to his chest almost as if he's in prayer. "I'm not- It doesn't - I-" He starts to make this noise in the back of his throat, a high-pitched kind of whine that sounds entirely _not human_.

"Easy now. Calm down, pet. First day in the human realm? A little new to the down below?" Louis doesn't know why he's taking this so well, finding it easy to rib at him. He's honestly just rolling with it at this point, too overwhelmed to form a real concrete emotion.

"I'm not supposed to be seen!" Harry snaps, his wings fluttering out sharply before they smack into a mug on the counter, sending it skittering back into the backsplash. It doesn't break, but it does clink loudly. Harry instantly pulls his wings back to him, the edges curled around him again like a feathery cloak - guilty and subdued. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

"Alright well, stay here." Louis tries for soothing, swinging his key ring around his finger. "I'll be back in a bit."

"I _can't_." Harry turns then, careful to keep his feathers to himself and away from the dishware. "I am supposed to be with you. You are my charge. I can't protect you from far away."

"I've been without an angel for a good twenty-six years. Think I'll manage." Louis shrugs his shoulders, goes to back up, but freezes at Harry's high-pitched whimper.

"You don't-" Digging his toes down into the linoleum, Harry shifts his weight awkwardly. Louis can't drag his eyes away from the way the silk parts around Harry's thigh, the skin incredibly smooth and pale, even in the bright fluorescent. "You don't understand."

"I don't." Louis answers honestly, forces his attention up only to be met by Harry's large eyes, his bottom lip between his teeth. "Explain it to me then, love. Cause at this point, I'm just rollin' with it. I don't understand any of this. And frankly, it's a bit of an inconvenience, yeah?"

It takes him a moment, seeming to chew over the idea of what to do next. Louis' stomach gurgles in the quiet, starving and churning with the remnants of last night. He wants nothing more than to squeeze himself into some booth in some pub and eat his fair share of fried potatoes and eggs, but it all seems a little unimportant when a literal biblical anomaly stands before him. One that is currently gripping his bottom lip between long, thin fingers, looking entirely too distressed.

"Heaven has sent me to watch over you and keep you safe." Harry begins, his voice soft, like he's telling something sacred. "Angels are not of this world. I should not be able to be seen, not be able to talk to you, but I guess, um." He pauses then, twists those elegant hands in front of himself. "I guess this is also part of God's plan. He knows best. To take some of my grace and make me...present."

“Take some of your grace?” Louis’ eyebrows crawl up his forehead, his own predicament momentarily forgotten as Harry curls his shoulders forward, hunches a little. It puts his collarbones in sharp relief, the curve of the bone a mirror of his wings. “What does that mean?”

“Our grace.” Harry mutters, rubs a hand through his hair again, ruffling the curls. “It gives us our heavenly power. Allows us to move among the human realm undetected unless God wills it.”

“So, there are other angels? In the world? Right now?” Louis looks around like he’s expecting to see some other winged person lingering outside of his window or something, silently judging him.

“Of course.” Harry looks up at him, rolling his eyes. It looks entirely too human on him, especially with his wings wrapped so tightly around his shoulders. “Did you think I was the only one?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like an expert on biblical mythology, mate.” Louis takes a deep breath, stares up at the ceiling for a good, long minute. He’s verging on that type of huger that turns him into an asshole, and honestly, he’s a bit tired of feeling like he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Harry’s been in his life for three hours now and Louis is a bit tired.

“It must be part of God’s plan.” Harry repeats himself for the third time and Louis feels like he’s reached his limit.

"And you don't know God's plan?" Louis asks, waits to get Harry's slow shake of his head in response. "Right. Well."

Stepping into the kitchen, Louis levels him with a careful look. In this light, it's easy to see how noticeably young Harry looks, uncertain and frustration wrinkling his smooth brow. Louis doesn't like this. Doesn't fucking understand. Can't even really wrap his mind around it, but he gets the distinct feeling that this isn't Harry's fault. And honestly, Louis' life has been a little boring lately.

So, fuck it.

"Well, darling, I guess we're going to have to find you something to wear." Louis glances down at Harry's bare feet. "First day in the human realm as a real boy, so I reckon me joggers might fit. Might be a bit short. But I don't know about your wings. A jumper and coat?"

"I can-" Harry shifts his weight again, his wings fluttering back behind him, carefully. "I can shrink them."

"Shrink 'em?" Louis asks, has to stop himself from reaching out and touching one of the feathers nearest to him. The very tips of them seem to be dipped in pure light.

"A bit. To help us get around." Carefully, the wings start to unfurl, spreading along the length of the kitchen counter. They're absolutely magnificent, seem to radiate a soft glow, the bones underneath thin but powerful. They're nearly hitting each wall, when with a careful breath, Harry closes his eyes and they begin to change shape. The high arch of them starts to shrink, a suggestion of movement at first until with a powerful shudder, they've curled down into what looks like little cupid's wings - no bigger than what you'd find at a costume shop.

"That's a clever trick." Louis exhales sharply, marveling as the now smaller wings give a soft flutter, opening and closing quickly. They look almost _cute_ on Harry, petite but still powerful with the fine bones now etched into a smaller curve. Sunlight still spills through them still, makes the white glow a golden yellow, reflecting over the smooth line of Harry's back, onto his arms.

Louis wants to touch him, suddenly all he can think about, to run his hands along the fine bones of the wings, of Harry’s spine. He wonders if he’d be warm to the touch, if Harry would shudder under Louis’ careful fingers. Would he arch into it? Harry is looking at him through half lidded eyes, panting a little, and Louis' mind goes in a totally different direction. He wonders how low the flush on his cheeks could go, if it would spread across his neck, down onto his chest. If Harry was flushed in pleasure instead of what looks like exhaustion.

"Very clever." Louis breathes, having to grip the hem of his jumper to stop himself from reaching out, tries to focus instead. "But it's March. I don't-"

"I can make them smaller. To hide them. But not for very long. It's not-" Harry twists a little, shows Louis the curve of his back. "It's not permanent."

With a hand now resting on the counter, Harry rolls his shoulders back, a slow grimace suddenly morphing over his face as once again his wings begin to change shape. This time, it looks painful, the bones shrinking with a soft crack, the feathers morphing and twisting together. It takes longer too, and Harry drops his head, his long hair helping shield his face from Louis' view.

When it's done, after a good few minutes, there is a flash of golden light from where the skin has now healed over where the wings once protruded. Thin strands of it slide out from the top of Harry's shoulders, like someone has taken a golden pen and began to draw. Harry's bent forward on the counter now, his elbows on the marble and waist arched, so Louis has a full view of the way the strands arch and twist over his back, etching lines that turn black into the smooth, soft skin. When they're done, two wings have been marked into him, appearing like an intricate tattoo of angels wings, spanning the full length of Harry's back.

"Fuck me." Louis murmurs, awestruck at the body shuddering before him. Harry is still bent over the counter, chest heaving as he shudders through the very last of it. Sweat has pooled a little on his back, making his skin shine in a faint gleam, curls stuck against his shoulder. Louis reaches a hand out, thinks about brushing them away, but then stops himself. He’s not even sure he’s allowed to do that, how Harry would react.

It takes a few more minutes before Harry can straighten up, turn his face towards Louis with a fragile, watery sort of smile. The glimmer that had been a vague notion between his temples seems very apparent suddenly, a shadow of his halo like particles of light arched across his brow. It's there and then gone, and suddenly Harry looks very human - only the faintest glow around his face giving any hint to his other worldliness.

"That alright?" He brushes his fingers over his cheek, tucks his long hair behind his ear. And Louis can't really breathe, just keeps staring at Harry. It's too much. He wants too much.

“Brilliant.” Louis answers honestly, can’t settle his eyes, roving over his face, down onto his chest, along the cut of his dress. The silk is clinging a little to him, pressed tight to his stomach, to the curve of his hip.

“I’ve never done that before.” Harry murmurs, his hand moving to touch his shoulder, glancing over it at his back. “I didn’t even know I could. I just thought-“

“It’s brilliant. Fucking amazing.” Louis rushes to reassure him, still trying to wrap his mind around it. If there were ever a time to start believing in miracles, now it seems to be it. Harry looks extremely pleased at the praise, his cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink as he ducks his head.

“Thank you.”

"We'll need to find you something to wear though. Can't let you walk around London like that." Louis tries to make it light, to make it joking, but it comes out breathy and soft. Like an after thought. Especially when Harry glances over himself, seeming confused as he pulls at the hem of his dress.

"Silk dress and bare feet in March?" Louis explains, gesturing to the slits, exposing Harry's long, bare legs. And _fuck_ , those legs. It makes Louis’ teeth ache. "You'll freeze, love. Best to get you into something else. Something with sleeves."

"Oh. Alright."

Slowly, as if he's already decided, Harry raises his hand up. He doesn't stop staring at Louis while he does it, meets his gaze through a fringe of dark eyelashes, his full mouth curved up just slightly in a smile. The moment seems to stretch in all directions, poised and coiled tight, as Harry's fingers catch on the ribbon at the top of his spine. He tugs is slowly, straight up, so the knot comes undone, the strands falling out and over his bare shoulders. It loosens the collar at his throat, the fabric shifting, no longer held against his chest.

Louis has words. He knows he does. He's always so quick with a reply or a barb. And he means to say them. He does. But his mouth is suddenly incredibly dry as the dress comes unfurled, slipping away. Pearlescent fabric cascades down from Harry's chest, over the lines of his chest, slipping along his tight stomach as well, across his hips. Until suddenly and all at once, Harry is left standing completely naked in Louis' modest kitchen, a heap of silk at his feet.

Louis doesn't know where to look first.

So, he doesn't.

He slams his eyes shut with a groan and then forces them open again, pointedly staring up at the ceiling. It's an alright ceiling. Off white. A little dusty in the corners. Nothing as perfect or smooth as the soft cut of Harry's waist, his hipbones made of the same delicate line his wings were. Louis isn't getting tangled up in the thought of them, of his mouth pressed down between Harry's legs. He isn't. He stumbles back, suddenly flushed and overwhelmed and panting, hits the doorframe in his haste.

"I'll uh. I'll get ya something, yeah?" Holding his hand up, Louis feels along the wall until he manages to squirm into the hallway.

"Do you need help?" Harry just sounds confused, his tone oddly endearing.

"No!" Louis answers loudly, pivots all the way around so his back is to the angel. "Don't! Don't move!"

It isn't until he's in his bedroom that he allows his hands to come up over his eyes, giving himself a moment to groan into the silence. And what the fuck? There has to be some rule, some biblical damnation for getting hard over your guardian angel. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if God didn’t smite him where he was standing right now.

_What the fuck?_

\- - -

The pub is mostly empty on a Friday afternoon, the telly on to some footie with a few old guys huddled around the bar to watch, pints all around. They don't even take notice of Louis or Harry, who find themselves huddled in a far booth, the window next to them giving a view onto the busy sidewalk and street beyond. Louis doesn't think of anything, doesn't let his mind wander, until they're settled and he has the menu open in front of him.

It feels oddly domestic for the shitstorm his morning has been. Louis can’t help peeking through his eyelashes at Harry, who sits slightly slumped in the seat before him, fiddling with one of the cuffs around his wrist. He looks human enough, dressed down in Louis’ clothes, but there is nothing mundane about his face. Harry is other worldly pretty and Louis has to force his eyes down so he doesn’t get caught up in staring at him again.

"Hello boys." The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a streak of blond hair coiled tight in a bun, comes over with ink pad, pen ready. "What'll ya be having?"

"Tea, with milk." Louis is careful to specify, shutting the menu jacket and handing it back to the woman. "And a fry up, extra sausage, please. Wheat toast."

"Alright." The woman is quick to write it down, a little charmed at the manners. He might look like an arsehole most days, but Louis' mum raised a good boy. Always kind to those who serve you. "And you, love? Breakfast as well?"

When they both turn to look, Harry hasn't so much as opened his menu. Instead, his hands are neatly folded on top of it, staring across the table at Louis with wide, confused eyes. He doesn't even respond when the woman makes a soft noise, clearly trying to convey his panic as she reaches out, Harry quick to drag his hands away and into his lap.

"The omelets are good here. Or the French toast." She starts, her voice dropping into a soft, motherly sort of tone. Louis can only imagine what she must be thinking. Here Louis is, ordering sure and practiced, looking like a proper lad while Harry sits on the other side in clothes so clearly not his own, his long hair a mess of curls around his shoulders. They look like a walk of shame, like a night after just managing to pull themselves together to go get breakfast.

"Sorry, he's a bit tired." Louis is quick to intervene, grimaces at his choice of words, doesn't want her pondering too much about them. "He'll have a tea, right love? And some pancakes?"

"Oh. Yes." Harry nods, shoulders rolling back in relief as he turns his face up at the woman, giving her a smile. "Sorry, yes. Cheers."

She seems charmed by Harry's dimples, by his upturned face, so she doesn't question it as she writes it down. The woman does make a point of sliding his menu off the table though, sending a pointed look at Louis that makes that back of his neck hot. It's not until she's walked away, glancing back at them only once or twice, that Louis is leaning forward, careful to keep his voice low.

"What was that?"

"I don't know!" Harry hisses back, his shoulders hunched forward. "I'm not used to people seeing me!"

"Well, they can!" Louis widens his eyes, glancing around. No one else is paying them any attention. "Wait, can you even eat?"

"I haven't..." Harry trails off, brow furrowed. "I haven't ever tried? I suppose I could."

“What do you mean?” Louis asks. He’s never really considered it. Harry looks human enough, even with the wings. It’s not that far fetched to think he would be made up of the same stuff – same organs, same veins.

"We're not built like you. Angels aren't humans. We're what came before." Harry explains, his voice dipping so it won’t carry across the bar. He settles Louis with a small kind of frown, a furrow between his eyebrows. “It’s not just the wings. It’s everything.”

“Like what?” Louis has always been a curious person. Has to have his nose in things. Used to drive his mum crazy as a rambunctious toddler. Now, it’s morphed into someone who can’t let shit go. “You don’t eat?”

“I don’t need to.” Harry shrugs his shoulders a little. “It’s not the same for angels. Yes, we watch over earth. We observe humans, help them. I’ve seen every range of emotion and situation a human go through, but it’s not as if I’m experiencing them.”

Harry picks up a straw wrapper left to the side of his water glass, beginning to fold the paper into small squares. Louis watches him fiddle with it, clearly a soothing and distracting habit of his. He understands what Harry is saying, though it feels incredibly lonely. To be always the one watching but never interacting, never feeling anything for himself.

"So, what do you do then?" Louis asks, settles back in his seat. "With other people? Do you just follow them around? Do you even sleep?"

"I mean, yes. We follow our humans around. I told you, I'm bound to you." He hesitates, seems to be choosing his words carefully, as he slowly continues. "But it's not like how your media makes it seem. We're more like impressions or ghosts. Sometimes we are more present than others. We're not meant to change things, but we can influence. A lot of human life is up to free will. The power to choose. God's gift to you. But we can influence things. Make humans see one choice in a better light than the other. _Guide_ them."

"Like what?" Louis asks, lounging back against the booth seat. It's not like he's ever going to get this opportunity again, might as well find out some information. "Give me an example."

"It's not always complicated things. Like, if you were to choose between this pub and the one next door." Harry explains, motioning with his hand. "I could make this one seem better to you, make you more inclined to choose this one over the other."

"But why?" Louis lets out a sharp scoff, shaking his head. "I thought you were supposed to do divine intervention. Yeah? Holy guidance or some shite. I doubt me choice in food is going to change me life."

"Every action has a consequence and changes the path." Harry shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe I know you'd get food poisoning if you ate in the other one, so in means to protect you, I encourage you to come to this one. Or I knew you would meet someone of importance here that will play a key role in your life so I try to guide you in that direction."

"So, you know things then? Like in the future?" Louis can't imagine knowing someone's whole life, seeing it all before it happens. The power behind that is awful. "You know what's going to happen to me before it does?"

"No. Not like that." Harry shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. "We're privy to certain information, but only what is allowed. We have rules, of what we can and cannot know. And we're at the mercy of the divine just as much as you are."

"And that's what? Who makes the rules?" Louis asks, having a niggling feeling he already knows. "God?"

"It's all part of his plan." Nodding, Harry spreads his hands out on the table. He doesn't say it like it's an answer though, more like it's a repeated phrase - something he has been taught to say.

And it is. Harry wishes he could tell Louis, make him understand, how extremely dangerous them even talking right now is. Harry doesn't understand why he's been given this gift - if it can even be called that. Something about it feels like a punishment, and he can almost see the grimace Gabriel had given him, the thinly veiled 'or else' that had been tacked on when he had been reassigned. This isn't a blessing, it's a test.

The woman comes back then, interrupts their little interview session to set plates of steaming food on the table and two matching mugs of tea. Harry is the first to thank her this time, gives her another one of his dazzling smiles and Louis watches the way the woman flushes, her eyes seeming to linger a little longer on Harry's face. It must be the sunlight through the bottle glass window because Louis swears he sees a glimmer around the edges of Harry again.

He takes four bites of his potatoes, smothered in a bit of egg yolk, before Louis is leveling Harry with another look. He doesn't want to push the angel too much, isn't sure what all he can get away with, but he figures he might as well try.

"So, what's he like?"

"What who is like?" Harry hasn't touched his food, only has wrapped his hands around his mug, his thumb dragging along the rim of it. The butter on his pancakes has started to melt, a thin pool of gold dripping off the side as it mixes with syrup.

"God. The big man." Louis reaches for his tea, takes a long sip of it. It's too bloody strong, but it'll do.

"Oh. I haven't met him." Harry shrugs a little, seemingly unbothered. "Only a select few are granted an audience with the Most Holy."

"And so what? You take your orders from someone else?" Louis tries to think of other angels he has heard about, maybe a vague story here or there. "Does like, Michael come down and chat you in? Wave his sword around a bit?"

"Michael? Oh no." Harry's eyes widen, shaking his head quickly. The very thought is terrifying. "No, Michael isn't part of the guardian sect. He's a warrior angel. And highly ranked. There is no way-"

All of the sudden, Harry closes his mouth, grimaces a little as he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth. It's not that he's done it on purpose, he supposes, but there are rules for this as well. There is a whole list of them - things that can and cannot be revealed to humans. Things that corrupt and ruin the fragility of the human soul. Harry knows this. It's been bred into him, recited over and over in the heavenly vows.

"What?" Louis asks, takes another long pull of his tea. "Can't tell me?"

"There are rules." Harry answers honestly. At least it is a genuine reason. "Things you shouldn't know. Things I'm not allowed to say."

"So I’m guess you can't tell me what happens when I die?" Louis grins ruefully, a playful tilt to his head. “What heaven’s like?”

Harry thinks for a moment, remembers what it's like up in the divine. For Louis, there will be white clouds and golden rivers, a cosmic sky of infinite colors swirling above his head. It is more beautiful and more infinite than any worldly text has ever described. Rolling hills of marble and granite and the most sacred choir singing praises to the highest king.

"For you," Harry begins, his voice soft, reverent even with the background noise of the pub behind him. "Heaven will be absolute euphoria. There is no pain. No fear. You will feel nothing but elation and peace. For you and all those who you hold in your heart. And you will spend the rest of eternity knowing only that you are the most loved among God's creations."

Louis watches the late morning sunlight glimmer over Harry's face, turned golden through the glass of the window. He looks so sincere, so solemn, with his head tilted down almost as if in prayer. Louis doesn't even know why his throat suddenly feels tight, suddenly has the sense that there is more to be said. The bands around Harry's wrists clink together on top of the table, the metal tight against his skin. And Louis can see that they are not just smooth metal like he thought, but instead, engraved with strange symbols, set deep in the gold.

"And for you?" Louis can barely get the question out. "Heaven for you?"

Harry's eyelashes flutter, his lip caught between his finger and thumb again. He thinks of the long, endless white hallways and innumerable white doors. Of the screams of horror and scent of blood - not red like humans but gold, spilling out over white feathers. He thinks of the never ending chanting of 'Holy! Holy! Holy!' in the screeching Enochian. The terror of a broken body left on the floor, their wings torn off. Everything in constant motion.

"It's home." Harry blinks rapidly, tries to plaster on that smile. It feels a little brittle though, lips pressed in a tight line until they curve at the corners.

It's written all over his face. Louis doesn't need to be an expert at angels to recognize the horror - the stinging wound of rehashed trauma. Harry shifts in his seat, places his hands on the table and then back on the mug, draws his thumbs along the rim. And Louis wants to reach out, to rub his fingers over the curve of Harry's knuckles, but he isn't sure that's allowed either. There seems to be so many rules.

"Take a drink, love." Louis murmurs, motions his finger towards Harry's forgotten tea. "It'll help."

"Is that right?" Chuckling breathlessly, Harry leans down to blow across the liquid, watches it ripple in his mug. "A bit of tea and everything will be fine?"

"Never known it to hurt." Louis shrugs a shoulder, leans back in his seat. "Besides, I have it on good authority that tea is the human cure for everything."

"Oh yeah? And who told you that?" Harry looks up at him, dimple denting his cheek.

"Me mum." Motioning again to the cup, Louis lets his own grin spread across his face. "And she's never wrong, so I suggest you take her advice."

"Well, when you put it that way."

Harry curves his hands around the porcelain, brings it slowly to his face. It's just breakfast tea, a splash of milk in to turn it a murky, light brown. It smells good though, warm, in a way with the steam ghosting over his cheeks. Harry has been around food numerous times before, has attended - albeit not really - thousands of feasts and dinner parties. But he's never been close enough to touch, never felt the warmth of it in his hands.

It feels entirely too British for the first thing that Harry will ever taste is tea. But, by the time Louis thinks about it, considers other options, he's already taken his sip. He holds it in his mouth for a while before swallowing, lets it linger so he can get the full range of taste. It's interesting to watch the way Harry seems to mull it over, runs his tongue along his bottom lip, head cocked to the side. Louis' been drinking tea for as long as he can remember. Is pretty sure Jay put into a bottle for him at an early age. But to Harry, this is new.

"It's good." Harry finally says, sets the mug back down with a gentle click. "Think I might like it without the milk, tastes a bit bland, but-"

"Oh no." Louis bemoans around a bite of toast, shaking his head. "No, I refuse to let my guardian angel be some sort of tea supremacist."

"Supremacist?" Harry lets out a sharp scoff, tossing his head back. "I don't think me saying tea should come without milk-"

"Give him one taste of human food and now he's an expert, eh?"

Louis voice carries a bit, the waitress lingering at the end of the bar looking their way. When she sees them laughing though, she just smiles at Louis and turns back to folding silverware. It makes Louis' chest tighten for a minute, thinking about what she must be seeing. Just two lads, a little rumpled and a little hungover, together. That she probably sees the way Harry's clothes are a little too small, just a smidgen too _wrong_ and sees the way Louis is next to him. For all she knows, this could be a night after between two boyfriends, sharing giggles over slowly growing cold breakfasts. Flirting over tea and syrup.

"Louis." Harry pulls him out of his musings, a small little smile tucked into his mouth, almost shy with the way his face has turned a slight pink. "Thank you."

"For what?" Snapping his gaze back, Louis watches Harry closely.

"For this. For not-" Harry looks down at his hands, rubs his fingers over the curve of one of his cuffs. "For not being cruel."

"Not everyday you wake up to a miracle. So, might as well enjoy it, yeah?" Louis shoves the rest of his toast into his mouth so he won't say something he shouldn't.

\- - -

The late morning has shifted into early afternoon by the time they make it out of the pub. The streets are busy with people now, bustling from work, laden down with lunch bags. Nannies pushing prams and leading little ones along. Louis makes his way down the pavement with Harry lingering just over his shoulder, humming softly under his breath. There are still a million logistical question that Louis hasn't let himself ask. Things like how long Harry is going to be with him? How much space is he allowed? Does privacy even exist for him anymore?

Louis' not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he's starting to consider this blessing as more of some, morbid, heavenly test. There has to be a reason that he woke up to a literal angel attached to him. It has to be more than just 'God's plan'. It's not like he's living some dangerous, on the edge lifestyle. Sure, he gets a bit roughed up. Gets in fights and is a little too mouthy for his own good sometimes. And yeah, maybe Louis is known to haunt the races down by the pier, sneaks baggies of things into his pockets. But Louis is an adult. He's twenty-six, this past December. He can look out for himself.

"Listen, Harold." Louis pauses at the crosswalk, peers up at Harry through squinted eyes. "I don't think-"

"It's not- It's just Harry." Harry corrects with a scrunch of his nose, shaking his head a little.

"Oh? Not short for Harold then?" Louis can't help it, cracks a slow grin at the other man's confused frown. "Like the song? Hark the Herald Angels Sing?"

The reaction is instantaneous. Harry lets out this loud, barking laugh, his mouth stretched wide in glee as he tosses his head back. It sends his curls scattering over his shoulders, his cheeks turned pink, but it's his eyes - the corners wrinkled in easy mirth, glimmering in amusement at Louis' play on words. It's not even that clever, but it seems to unlock something, because Harry dissolves into helpless giggles after, bending forward a little.

And just like that, Louis forgets what he was so worried about. He knows, subconsciously, that somewhere down the line all of this is going to go to shit. God has never worried about Louis before, why would he start? But it doesn't matter. If Louis keeps getting to look at Harry like this - flushed and grinning wide enough h is dimple is showing - well, Louis can't really find a reason to complain.

He's interrupted of his musings, his slow tracking of Harry's shoulders still shaking with amusement, by the sharp squealing of tires. Someone has just flown through the intersection just before them, a flash of cherry red paint and Louis can't help but groan. He knows that car anywhere. And here, of all fucking places.

"Oi, you Donny cunt!"

Nick pulls the car over with a quick flip of his wrist, the Corvette’s tires screaming in protest until they land hitched up on the curb. He must have another insult, something equally as crash and vulgar as he pushes his sunglasses up on his forehead, long arms thrown along the seat. Whatever it is though, they seem to get lodged in his throat as both Louis and Harry turn around.

It only takes Louis a moment to realize what Nick must be seeing, or think he's seeing, drawing conclusions as his shocked face slowly morphs into a knowing, salacious grin. His eyes rove hungrily along Harry's lovely face, the cold having turned his cheeks a rosy pink, his wind-swept curls tousled over his shoulder. Harry had managed to pull on a pair of Louis' skinnies this morning, a little short in the cuff, but it doesn't matter with them rolled above an old pair of trainers Louis is fairly sure belong to Liam.

It wouldn't be anything of note, maybe an ill fit but nothing more, if it weren't for the jumper. Harry had picked it out of the closet, pulled it over his head with slow, sure fingers. It's bright ted, the emblem of Louis' footie team embroidered in gold in the corner. Across the shoulders, large white letters emblaze the name 'Tomlinson' with a large '28' just under, going the length of the back.

"And who," Nick purrs, slipping out of his car to stand on the pavement, "is this?"

"Oi." Carefully, Louis shifts his weight forward, steps so he can shelter Harry just behind him. "What do you want Grimshaw?"

"I think I just told you." Nick barely glances at Louis, instead moves his eyes over Harry's face, along his chest and the long cut of his leg in those jeans. "Cat got your tongue, love? A bit shy?"

"I'm Harry." Harry answers, almost as if he's not sure he's supposed. He's too polite to ignore a human though, figures it's okay as long as he stays close to Louis' back. "Nice to meet you."

"Nick Grimshaw." Nick grins wide, tilting his head in a slight bow. "And believe me, pleasure is mine."

"He's none of your business." Louis interjects, crosses his arms over his chest. "Now get lost."

A group of women with shopping bags eyes the trio with shameless curiosity. Nick in his expensive chinos, his glimmering designer sunglasses. And then Louis who has tattoos scattered over his body like an after thought, beat up Vans on his feet, and an angel boy plastered along his back.

"The manners on this one. Here I am, only making friendly conversation, and this is what I get?" Nick scoffs loudly, tries to sidestep to get closer to Harry but Louis moves with him, flashes his clenched teeth. "Well, what do you expect from such low company?"

"Fuck off Grimmy." Louis is already tired of this conversation, having moved from sarcastic annoyance to full on anger. He doesn't want to be having this conversation right now. He wants to go home. He wants to get Harry out of sight. And yeah, maybe he wants to call Zayn and freak out a bit.

"I don't think I will." Nick flashes those bleached whites at him, his canine sharp. "Now, tell me, how in the world did you hide an angel like this from us? Pretty enough to paint, wouldn't you say? Like a Boteccli with those curls."

"Lou." Harry murmurs, close enough to Louis' back that he can feel his breath. He's back to biting his bottom lip, glancing between the two men like he's not sure what to do.

"We're leaving."

Turning on his heel, Louis lets his hand linger just to the side of Harry's waist, uses it to guide them back a few steps along the pavement. He knows Nick was just using it as a pet name, but the way the word came out of his mouth just twists something deep in Louis. Like a warning - this is dangerous. Or maybe it's - protect. Or really - mine.

"Well, my my. Who knew that Tommo the Tease was the jealous sort?" Nick calls after them, his voice carrying. "What will everyone down at the pier think?"

"Louis, don't. He's not worth it." Harry mutters, turns his head to meet Louis' eye. "Nothing good will come from this."

A few paces is all they can manage to make before Nicks obnoxious laugh fills Louis' ears again. It's not a nice sound, more jagged and barking, a mocking snarl on the end. People stop to stare at them, seem to leech the tension strung out along the street.

"How about I make you a deal, Louis?" Nick is loud enough people on the street turn to watch. "I'll race you for him."

"Fuck off, Grimshaw." Louis snaps, pivots back around, his hand still resting on Harry's waist.

"Think you'll lose then?" Thumbing over his shoulder, Nick points at his car. "Think your little bike can beat her?"

"I think I'm not into betting people, _thanks_." Louis hisses, clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches. "He's not for sale."

Nick's grin quickly drops, brow settling into a deep curve. He looks almost upset by Louis' words, left standing on the sidewalk pouting. Louis doesn't bother to stick around and hear whatever else he's come up with. Instead, he turns back towards the pavement, ushers Harry a long with quick steps.

\- - -

"Louis?" Harry keeps his voice down, hurrying to stay in stride with Louis' quick, even gate. "Who was that? Why are you running away?"

"I'm not running away." Louis is quick to defend, his voice gone sharp. "I'm just not going to waste me bloody time on that dickhead."

"He isn't a good man." Lowly, Harry leans into Louis' side, voice urgent. "I can sense it. There is a darkness around him. You should tread carefully-"

"I think I've got it, love." Speeding up, Louis rolls his shoulders as if to shrug Harry away. "Been on the earth for a bit long enough without some unwanted godly advice, eh?"

Affronted, Harry's mouth forms a thin line, his brow furrowed. He doesn't say anything else though as they make their way up the street, weaving around other humans. No one pays them any mind, no one turning to even glance at the two men. Not even the couple they pass in the lobby of the apartment building, walking through the door in the opposite way, bothers to say hello.

Harry has been on earth for as long as there is time. He has seen every human interaction and emotion there is to see, always a careful observe, one step removed. He has watched love and hate and joy and sorrow, crippling anxiety and fear. And yet, it feels like something has been stripped away from him now. He feels raw with it, laid bare before an onslaught of _humanity_.

It's strange to see humans in this way, to actually watch faces change but sense it in the room. And yet, nothing feels as bright to Harry as Louis' does. He's a blazing inferno, golden light and fire, licking up around from his heels. Harry has seen a million faces, has guarded so many, have tried to save them all, but when Harry looks at Louis now - it's the very first time Harry has ever felt overwhelmed.

"If this is going to work-" Louis is already talking as he opens his flat's door, kicking his shoes off in the vague direction of the hall closet. "We need to set some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" Harry doesn't look that convinced, toes his own sneakers off, carefully lining them up on the wall.

"Yes. You have angel rules. I have human rules." Louis continues, doesn't even look over his shoulder to see if Harry is following, just makes his way into the living room. "First things first, I want boundaries. Lines. Like, you have to give me a little space-" Louis holds his hand up with Harry starts to protest. "You can be in the same flat as me, doesn't have to be same room, eh?"

"I suppose not." Harry shrugs a shoulder. "But I'm meant to be protecting you."

"The flat is barely seventy squared, I think you'll know if I'm on death's door." Louis rolls his eyes, hooks his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

Harry gets the nagging feeling that there has been a misstep, but he doesn't know when it happened. That guy Nick, the one with the bright car, had felt wrong to Harry. Had a dark cloud lingering just over his shoulder - not like a demon attached but the possibility of it. He flirted with danger, that was his vice, so maybe that's what caused Louis to react like this.

"I also need to know if I should be expecting anything else to happen. Are your little angel friends going to start popping up?" Louis gives a visual sweep of the apartment, almost like he's expecting someone else to appear in his bedroom doorway. "A visit from Saint Peter?"

"No." Harry is quick to dismiss the idea, fiddling with the hem of his jumper. "I told you, I'm the only one who can be seen. Or at least, that I know of. If another angel appeared here, you wouldn't be able to see them."

"Oi. I don't like that." Shifting on his feet, Louis shakes his head again. "What the fuck?"

"I'd tell you. Of course." Harry reassures him, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "I doubt anyone will come soon though. Angels are mostly left to guard on their own. We are only summoned or visited if we mess up."

"Splendid." Louis bites his tongue, refuses to be mad at himself for his sarcastic tone. He knows this isn't Harry's fault, not entirely, it's plain by the way he's shifting around, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth again.

"I know it is not ideal for you. But I am really just here to help you, Louis."

And doesn't that just fucking cut. Harry looks so earnest, so unbelievably _good_. He's got the faintest glow around him again, just a shimmer of light that seems to cling around his face, his broad shoulders. And Louis feels suddenly breathless and yearning all at once. He had already promised himself that he would just let this happen - to see where it would go. So why is he suddenly filled with anxiety?

"I know that." Louis answers because he knows it to be true. "I know that, love. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to get used to it."

"It's new for both of us." Exhaling slowly, Harry rolls his shoulders back, twists them a little. "I know you didn't ask for me. I know it must be very confusing. But it is part of God's plan. And you must trust he knows best."

"Miracle, innit?" Louis raises an eyebrow, that sardonic, charming grin of his stretching across his face.

Harry flashes him a small smile in return for the words, lets it linger on his face as his fingers suddenly start playing with the hem of his jumper, tugging on it, twisting it around his hand. He seems to be debating around something, jolting a little as if he's been shocked. It's only a moment and suddenly Harry is lifting it over his head with a soft cry, tossing it behind him.

"Wh-What are you doing?" Louis rushes forward as Harry lets out another shout, stumbling forward with a hand on the couch. "Harry?"

"I don't-" Hissing through his teeth, Harry's back bowing sharply forward.

It's hard to look away. Louis watches enraptured as Harry's skin ripples, the ink along his ribs, his shoulders, shimmering from black into gold again. There is no blood when his skin begins to split, just the oozing of bright light, a sharp claw like bone beginning to grow out of Harry's alabaster skin. It grows in size, shivering and arching into the air, dozens of white feathers bursting into formation.

They're not the big wings, the angelic wings, no. These are the cupid ones, shivering and small, looking almost dainty as they spread out from Harry's trembling back. Louis can see the flickers of gold along the edges of each feather, the soft downy ones growing into the larger ones on the tips, each so distinct. They seem to be shaking off the last magic, shivering until the wings curl down over Harry's spine, settling into small curved lines.

"Fuck." Louis murmurs, close enough he can smell the sweet scent of lilacs in the air, the same that he had caught earlier when he got close to Harry.

"Lou."

Sweat is clinging to the Harry's forehead, down over his throat. His nipples have gone hard in the cold air of the apartment, chest heaving as Harry tries to catch his breath, bowed over the back of the couch. His lips are trembling around the words, turns to look over Louis, his gaze watery.

"It's okay. I'm right here." Louis feels the words slip out before he can really think about what he's saying, just needs to calm him, to reassure. "Easy, darling. It's alright."

"I-"

Green eyes trace over Louis' face, as if it's the first time he's ever seen him, as if this is suddenly new - something shifting in that dark gaze. They follow the line of Louis' throat, down across his chest, along the length of his arm. And then they stop, Harry staring open mouthed and trembling, his hand gripping the leather couch and Louis' resting on top.

"Oh." Harry says, the word barely above an exhale.

Louis, for once, doesn't have words. Instead, he watches Harry's face, studies it so hard he barely blinks, as he curls his fingers down, fits them under Harry's palm and slowly pries it from the fabric. They fit together nicely, Louis' fingers around Harry's palm, their wrists pressed together. Harry is shaking still, palms a little warm, but Louis doesn't mind, he just holds it tighter.

"I've never-" Harry looks awestruck, staring down where his fingertips slide over Louis' knuckles as he switches the position, pressing their palms together. "touched-"

"It's alright." Louis says it though it's far from the truth. His heart is pounding, marveling at the feeling of Harry's smooth skin - his angelic, heaven sent hand placed in Louis' mortal, ordinary one.

"I like it." Harry's gasp comes out followed by a broken little giggle, almost like he can't believe it, just continues to stare where their hands are now joined, held up between them.

And all of the sudden, nothing seems to really matter. Louis could pick this apart, could get too paranoid about it, over analyze the idea of immortality versus mortality. How Harry's wings are within touching distance too, looking soft and ethereal against his back. But that's not what this is about. This feels like more.

It feels like two very lost souls finally clicking together - finding home.

And that's enough.

\- - -

Two days go by in a strange sort of settled domesticity. Louis finds it oddly comforting to have Harry around, even if he seems a little detached to the surroundings he's appeared in. While Louis is sprawled on the couch, watching footie or playing FIFA or even just talking, Harry will perch on the vacant chair, watch or finger through a few of the paperbacks on the shelf inside Louis' bedroom. He seems to gravitate towards the worn ones, the ones abandoned by visiting sisters, the type with large, buff men on the cover holding cowering women to their chest.

They talk about everything that they can, everything that is allowed. Louis tells Harry about his family a bit, about his friends out here in London. Gives him a full description of Zayn and Niall and Liam. Talks about how he ended up here. In response, Harry gives away little secrets - harmless ones. Like his age – ancient. His favorite human thing – when they invented singing. Harry also talks at length about other things, how flowers are formed and how beautiful the sunrise is from the sky itself.

While everything feels natural, like a settling of dust after an explosion, there are some things that just stay peculiar. Harry is still celestial, his little wings tucked against his back, watching Louis eat with an easy smile. He never asks to taste anything, but hasn't refused a single cup of tea that Louis has slid over to him. With dainty fingers, he'll hold the mug up to his face first, always inhales the steam before he takes his first sip. Louis may have been exceptionally pleased that Harry seemed most fond of the Yorkshire tea Louis made him, just with a bit of milk in the bottom.

There is also the issue of sleeping though, which Louis finds most unsettling. It's not that Harry isn't respectful. The first night, when Louis had dragged himself to bed, sprawled out over the mattress in just his boxers, Harry had only lingered in the doorway for a few minutes. It was like a parent checking on a sleeping child, making sure they were settled before they returned to their nightly task. Harry seemed only interested in making sure Louis was alright before he would make his way into the living room, curl up on the couch again, page over his book or possibly just stare out the window, taking in the rest of the world.

It's not Harry, per say, that is causing Louis problems though. It's his own fucking brain. Every time Louis lays down, tucks his head deep in his pillows, he catches sight of it - the pearly fabric of Harry's dress cast over the top of his closet door for safe keeping. It looks tiny and otherworldly illuminated in the moonlight, just a slip of fabric that still seems to exude the faintest scent of lilacs. Louis had shut his door the first night, made sure Harry couldn't see him, and had buried his nose against the waistline.

Shame - it's such a Godly emotion. It's been bred into humans from the moment they are born, and guilt had washed over Louis like a cloud. Following his secret indulgence with the dress, Louis has been plagued by dreams. It's never a concrete concept, no linear path to follow. No, Louis dreams of laughter, of sunlight on smooth skin, of white feathers slipping through his fingers. He dreams of a mouth that feels so warm and so good against his own, two bodies writhing against each other.

Louis tries to swallow it all down, tries to stuff it back inside when he's awake and in Harry's presence. And though it's not his fault, Harry doesn't exactly make it easy. The problem being he can't seem to control himself - lovely and shirtless, those wings curved to his back - and Harry is surprisingly delightful in personality too. Eager and willing to listen to Louis ramble or bitch about whatever he wants.

He's caught up in it now, Harry perched on the kitchen counter, his heels lightly tapping at the cabinets below. Louis' been trying to make breakfast, mangling a few eggs into something that looks fairly okay - mostly the right color. It's not that he can't cook - son of a single mother, plethora of little mouths to feed - it's just that now that he lives on his own, Louis doesn't care that much.

"So, me mate Oli, real lad that one. Just up and leaves me on the side of the road." Louis slips the spatula under the edge of the yolk, flipping the whole thing over. "Took me ages to get back. And of course, I'm still carrying the bag full of fireworks."

"You keep telling me these stories." Harry comments, his wings shifting a little on his back, ruffling up. "And yet you ask me why you received a guardian angel."

"I highly doubt a random bit of pranking gone wrong got you assigned to me." Louis shakes his head, unconvinced. "Unless you want to tell me what's the real reason you're here."

"It's God's-" Harry starts, cut off as Louis talks over him.

"Yeah, yeah. It's God's plan." Louis plates up his food, grabs his cup of tea on the way to the table. "Did God consider that maybe I was alright without a babysitter?"

"Lou." Harry sighs again, his deep voice dragging the nickname out until it feels much longer than it should. "We've been over this."

"Yeah, yeah. You're a miracle. I'm lucky. I never said otherwise, love."

Louis sends his best smile over at Harry, watches through crinkled eyes as he hops off the counter top. Harry hasn't really been able to wear a shirt, his long torso pebbled up in the cool air. Louis' been cranking the heat each day, for himself, and also to keep the angel comfortable - though Harry never complains. Louis did come out yesterday morning to see him curled up in a blanket on the couch - though if it were for comfort or a new habit, he's not sure.

"What's your plan for today?" Harry asks, steps bare feet over the wooden floor and onto the carpet. "More FIFA?"

"Unfortunately not," Louis sighs around a bite of his breakfast. "Got work at eight. It's Friday, so it'll be a late night."

"Work?" Harry cocks his head, his fingers distractedly smoothing along one of his wings. It shudders under the gentle caress, feathers spreading out wide and twitching. Harry seems to be working the base into a move comfortable position, almost like one would rub at a sore shoulder.

"Yeah, work at a pub on the other side of town. Little joint but it's packed on the weekends." Louis is two bites into his bit of toast when he stops chewing, dragging his gaze up from his plate to Harry's face. It's a slow, cold realization. "You can't go with me, darling."

"Can't?" Harry pronounces each letter, a posh lilt to his tone as Louis skips every other letter. "What do you mean I can't? I have to. I have been sent-"

"I can't take me guardian angel to a pub!" Louis abandons his half-bitten toast on his plate, leaning back in his chair. When Harry continues to stare at him, Louis rests his hands on the table, palms flat. "Come off it, sweetheart. You can't expect me to take you. It's Friday. Uni Night. The place will be packed with all sorts and you? You can't."

"It's not up to you." Harry sniffs, looking way more confident than his tone would suggest. "I'm not to be without you. Your grace, your safety, is under my charge now. Where you go, I go."

"Harold-" Louis tries to interject but Harry firmly shakes his head, his little cupid wings flaring open into their full gait. It's barely four feet.

"You can't stop me. Even if you left me here, I'd be able to find you and just show up. Would you prefer that? Me wandering around London until I managed to get over there?"

Louis falls silent under that, mulling over the words. It would be reckless, foolish really, to try and take Harry to a bar like this. It's not that The Crown's Court is a bad pub, per say. On the weekdays, it's full of old men in tracksuits, sipping pints and arguing over parliament. Or it's a few young fellows, downtrodden by the job and just needing a release. But on Fridays, on Uni Nights, it's every legal person under the age of fifty. It's loud music, laughing, dancing half hidden under the sweep of strobe lights. Louis can't imagine Harry - beautiful, pure, angel Harry - in a place like that.

But then, if he leaves him at home, Harry can just show up anyways. And Louis will have to deal with worrying all night.

No.

The sensible thing is to take control of the situation. He's on bar tonight with Zayn, Paul at the door. If he takes Harry with him, he can settle him up on the edge of the stool line, tuck him into a corner with a water and a keen eye to watch out. Maybe he'll let Harry wear his sweater again, brand his name on the back. Anything to keep from happening what will inevitably happen when a pretty boy comes to the pub.

"I have rules, angel." Louis rolls his shoulders back, levels Harry with a firm sort of furrow, mouth curved into a thin line. "Got it?"

"I can be good." Harry brushes his hair over his shoulder, bites his bottom lip and bats those long eyelashes at Louis. "I promise."

"I'm not going to be held responsible for leading an angel into depravity." Louis watches the flush slowly take over Harry's cheeks, looking entirely too pleased even with his wings spread. It feels like the very image of corruption, and Louis is going to pay for this. He knows somewhere down the line, he will. "What I say goes, got it?"

"Whatever you say, boss." Harry moves his fingers to his bare chest, makes a small x with his finger on his chest. "But I have to be close to you. You can’t store me in like a broom cupboard of something."

Louis gets kind of caught up in the idea of that. Of just tucking Harry away somewhere safe and comfortable, somewhere safe and comfortable, until Louis knows it’s okay to pull him out again. Do angels work like fairies do? Able to shrink and conform themselves smaller? Can Louis tuck a Tinkerbell sized Harry away in his pocket for safe keeping?

"Alright." Louis doesn't see the point in fighting or considering other options. He has to go to work. And Harry has to come. And if he has his way, Harry will be sitting pretty at the end of the bar all night, directly in line of Louis' vision. "But I think we're going to have to get you some clothes first."

"You don't like me like this?"

Harry's grin grows, charming and dimpled, as he rests his hands on his hips. Slowly, he spins himself in a full circle, gives Louis the full panoramic view from his bare chest to the softness of his hips to his wings still protruding from his back. He must know what he's doing, he has to. There is no way Louis can't rove his eyes over him, take in every detail from the way his waistband dips to the glint of gold at his wrist. Louis' entire mouth goes dry, looks and looks and looks until Harry clears his throat, still blushing.

"What? I was only teasing."

"I-" Louis' voice croaks high, breaks on the world. "I know love. It was cheeky, very cute."

 _Cute?_ Louis could smack himself in the face if he weren't so obvious. He crams a piece of toast in his mouth instead, makes himself drop his gaze from Harry's green eyes, down to where his eggs have gone a bit cold. He's got to get this under control. It's only been two days and Louis is already wondering what it would feel like to press their mouths together. And how fucking sacrilegious is that?

_"Oh hey Lou, welcome to hell. What're you in for?"_

_"Oh you know. Tried to shag me guardian angel. Nothing too bad._

"I'll uh-" Harry makes a motion towards the bedroom door. "Jumper? Yes? Hide my wings while you eat."

He doesn't even wait for Louis to pull himself out of his mental crisis. He just turns away, cheeks burning and wings folded into his back. And Louis can't stop himself from watching that pert little arse disappear down the hall. Though, he supposes if something is going to send him to hell, this is one way to go.

\- - -

The boutique on Fifth and Lemon houses an array of both vintage and modern clothing and accessories at a surprisingly discounted price. How most of it ends up there, Louis has never been privy to, but Niall always has this secret charm about it. Alludes to it being an 'old family secret' which really boils down to the bloody lucky Irish. It's done pretty well for itself, glass walled and chic between a coffee shop and a yoga/pilates place - looking somehow both thrifty and high end at the same time.

Louis leads Harry through the front door with a hand draped gently on his waist, guiding him across the stone threshold. The place is absolutely brimming in clothes, stacks of velvet blazers, georgette dresses, a whole row of vintage denim jackets take up a window display. It'd be overwhelming if it weren't for the grinning man sat on top of the till counter, a large coffee mug perched in his hand.

"Louis Tomlinson, awake and functioning before eleven a.m." Niall coos, leans an elbow on his curved knee. "As I live and breathe. A miracle."

"Oi, fuck off Nialler." Louis flips him off good naturedly. "Good to see you too, mate."

"Only jokes. Just a bit of bants." Niall sets his mug down, swings his legs to hang over the edge of the counter instead. He seems to just now notice that Louis isn’t alone, head cocking to the side in confusion. “And who is-“

"Is that dickhead here yet?"

Another voice interrupts, the curtain to the back rattling as the beads hit against each other. Zayn comes stomping out of the back, his boots clunking loudly on the polished wood floor. When he sees Louis, he immediately abandons his cup of tea on a small side table, already starting in.

"Oi, mate, what the fuck? What's gotten into you? Not answering your phone for two days. Ignoring me message-" Zayn's voice pitters off, loses the momentum as he steps around a rack of vintage fur coats and takes in the small group. "Who is this?"

Louis has to stop himself from wrapping his arm around Harry, from drawing him into the length of Louis' side. It'll only come over possessive and that will open it up to questions - Niall and Zayn already watching him carefully. Instead, he gently touches Harry's waist, drags his palm over to the curve of his hip in what he tries to make casual and friendly. From the way Zayn and Niall's eyebrows raise at each other, it seems to have failed.

"Lads, this is Harry." Louis glances between them. "Harry, this is Niall and Zayn."

"Hi." Harry's slow drawl fills the room, such a rural, lazy sort of an accent.

"Cheers." Zayn mutters, keeps his gaze shifting from Harry's face to Louis', like he's trying to unravel the riddle of it all.

"Hiya Harry." Niall - good, sweet, innocent Niall - doesn't seem to think there is anything odd about the strange man standing in his shop, wearing a bright red jumper with Louis' name on the back. "Nice to meet ya. What brings you in?"

"He needs to pick up some clothes. Lost them in a building fire. Real tragic." Louis is quick to lie, hates how talking fast makes his accent stronger. "But I figured if anyone could style those long legs, it'd be you Neal."

"Sorry to hear that, mate." And Niall looks genuinely sad and Louis feels like an arsehole but Niall is quick to recover with a wide grin. "Think I've got something for you. Want to follow me?"

Harry meets Louis' gaze, worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he glances between the two men. Louis can't even imagine how overwhelming this is for Harry - who is old to viewing the earth but so very new to actually experiencing it. Lacing their fingers together, Louis squeezes their palms, both for him and for Harry, reassurance through touch.

"I'm not leaving, love. Just let Niall give you some fits, yeah? Can't live in my hand-me-downs, now can you?"

“I don’t mind.” Harry answers, leans his head down a bit to whisper at Louis. “Are they…I don’t feel bad around them.”

“They’re good lads. Me mates. Don’t worry.” Louis nudges his chin towards Niall. “Practically a church boy, this one. Sides, don’t you know that God favors the Irish the most?”

“I don’t think that’s right.” Niall has hopped off the counter now, has stepped closer to the pair. “But I promise to go easy on you. Come on, yeah?”

He waits for Harry to be comfortable, to detach himself from Louis and instead step into Niall’s space. It’s only met with a large grin from the blond, who casually tilts his head towards the center of the boutique where there is a semi-circle of mirrors and a few couches spread around. In the very center is a pedestal, a few inches off the ground. Louis watches them walk away, watches Niall say something that makes Harry laugh, a careless tilt to his head. It feels good and bright and lovely and then Zayn comes over with a raised, knowing eyebrow and Louis remembers himself.

“Bit of charity this morning, Lou?” Zayn asks, leans in until his arm is pressed to Louis’. “Helping the helpless?”

“He’s my mate. I felt bad.” Louis doesn’t like lying to Zayn for multiple reasons. The most being that they’ve been friends for ages. Secondly, because he knows it’s nearly impossible. Zayn has Louis x-ray vision. He sees through all the bullshit.

“Cause of the fire?” Zayn asks, feigns picking invisible lint off Louis's shoulder, carefully watching his face.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Took everything from him." Batting his hand away, Louis motions towards the door. "Smoke?"

Zayn nods amiicably, already making his way towards the door. Louis remembers in the last minute to turn back around, to warn the two remaining men.

"Oi, love, me and Zayn are going out for a smoke. Be just outside the window, yeah?" Harry turns at the sound of his voice, something very pretty and blue clutched in his hand.

"Okay." He doesn't look that certain but Niall gives him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

"It'll be fine. They'll only be gone a bit and then Louis can come help pick out some clothes. He's got an eye for it. Wasted on him but someone with your figure?"

Niall's easy attitude seems to feed into Harry's, who lets out a short, bark of a laugh again that dimples his cheek. Louis wants to press a finger into it, wants to trace along the cut of his jaw with his mouth. Instead, he gives a mocking salute and steps out of the door, letting the brisk air cool his burning cheeks.

"Alright, so who is he?" It seems Zayn has brought his 'no bullshit' attitude outside as well. He levels Louis with another unimpressed frown, looking impossibly attractive with a cigarette between his lips.

"I told you. He's a friend. Have known him for a bit and then a few days ago, he called me up. Told me about the fire. And I've been letting him crash on me couch." Louis makes an extraordinarily strong effort to focus on pulling his own smoke out, keeping his eyes down on the flame of his lighter as it catches. "No big mystery."

"Known him a long time?" Zayn asks again, the toe of his Doc's bumping into Louis' Vans. "How long? How did you meet?"

"I dunno. Hometown chums. His family moved in and we met through mutual acquaintances." Louis answers quickly, his hackles raised and snapping a bit at the end of the word. "What's this about? You’re asking me questions like you're accusing me of something."

"I'm not but you're lying to me." Zayn exhales through his nose, the smoke billowing out in a thick plume around them. "I know you, Louis Tomlinson."

"Meaning what?" Louis scoffs, throws his hand out in a flippant gesture.

"Meaning, I've known you since you were sixteen years old. I've known every crush, every date, and every boy you've ever messed around with. I know your type. I know you. And I also know-" Zayn points his finger and his cigarette towards the windows. "They don't make boys that look like that in Doncaster."

Louis looks in, has to bite the inside of his cheek from what he sees. Harry is standing up on that pedestal, seemingly unbothered by his near nudity as he adjusts the hemline of his pants - the pair that Louis had loaned him that are almost a little too tight. He's facing away from the glass, putting the long line of his tattoos on display, the curve of the ink arching over his shoulder blades, down along his waist, tapering off just above the swell of his ass.

"Oh Louis." Zayn sighs again, inhales a deep breath and then lets it out.

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me." Louis shifts his gaze away only for a moment, sees Zayn's profile and then he's back to the window.

Niall is helping now, holding up a bunch of baby pink fabric, talking rapidly. Harry seems to be giggling at whatever he's saying, his arms above his head as they get it on, the dress falling slowly around his frame. It's a vintage cut, the type that grunge girls in the 90s would have frothed at the mouth for - long with capped sleeves, pearl buttons up the front to match the white lace along the hem. It also has slits on the side, not as high as Harry's angelic gown, but enough that it falls open around his knees, shows off the anklets just above his bare feet.

"Try me." Zayn nudges his shoulder into Louis', makes them both turn away from the sight of Harry twisting in the full length mirrors, getting a full view of himself. Louis already knows they're going to have to take the dress.

"You remember a few nights ago when we were at the pub?" Louis starts, feels like he's pulling the words from deep inside his chest. But he can't lie to Zayn. Not about this. He needs to tell someone. Needs someone to tell him how fucked in the head he is over this.

"Yeah." Zayn answers simply, waits for Louis to continue.

"Well," And this is it. There is no going back. "I woke up and Harry was just there. Sitting on me bed."

Zayn takes a long moment to inhale on his cigarette, hallows his cheeks with how hard he pulls on it. There is a moment where he just squints at Louis, seems to be thinking hard on it, before he answers around the smoke spilling from his mouth.

"How? I took you home. You were fucking blazed, mate. How did you manage to pull? And where?"

"I didn't pull him." Louis hisses, lowers his voice as he steps closer, glances around like someone is going to jump out and accuse him of spilling secrets. Technically Harry never told him not to tell people, but Louis feels like it's one of those unspoken types of things. "He's my, uh, guardian angel."

"Oi, come off it." Zayn yanks back, rolls his eyes hard enough it must strain them a bit. "You're a shite."

"I'm not lying to you!" Louis has to chase him forward half a step. "I swear it. When I woke up, he was just sitting on the edge of me bed. Had wings and all."

Zayn stays silent for too long, just smokes his cigarette and levels Louis with an unimpressed sort of frown.

"Look at me face! I had stitches when you saw me. And now? Nothing!"

Louis pushes his fringe up, shows Zayn where the skin is soft and mark free just above his left eyebrow. And it's a logic Zayn can't argue with. When he had seen Louis last, he was drunk and mouthy and also injured. There is no denying that. Zayn reaches out a tentative finger, brushes it along Louis' forehead like the old gash will suddenly appear, and when it doesn't, he pulls back with a startled frown.

"Explain."

"I just did!" Louis stresses, wills Zayn to believe him. "He was just in my apartment. He has wings. He's just hiding them right now so he can go out."

Zayn turns his attention to the window again, watches Harry shimmying into another dress. This one is a pale lilac color, the back open and strappy, putting his whole tattoo on display. Niall seems to have a whole stack of them in his arms, a rainbow of georgette and chiffon - light fabrics. Harry doesn't seem bothered by his near nudity, just eases the hemline of the summer slip along his thighs, straightens the collar a bit. Anyone passing by couldn't really see through the window display anyways, you'd have to be close and know where to look to see all that pale skin.

"Okay but why?" Zayn hisses back, leans in again. "You're not even Catholic or whatever. What the fuck do you need a guardian angel for?"

"I don't know!"

Louis' voice raises enough that someone passing on the other side of the road turns their head. They take one look at the pair - black clothes, lots of tattoos, cigarettes in hand - and hurry themselves around the corner. There is a line between hipster and punk and Louis and Zayn seem to be tipping it in the wrong direction for this type of neighborhood. Maybe if they were holding smoothies or something.

"Alright mate. Take a breath." Zayn plucks another cigarette from his pack, lights it off the first. "I'm just trying to understand. It's not every day your best mate tells you he's got a celestial being following him around. Let alone bringing him to meet the lads."

"I don't even understand it." Louis deflates a little, leans his body back against the building. "I just woke up and he was there. Told me God sent him down to protect me and he was bound to follow me. Won't tell me anything really except it's all in God's plan."

"Seems a bit inconsiderate." Zayn muses, exhales up towards the sky. "Just to appear and expect you to change your whole life for him. For a God you don't even believe in. Some Christian bullshit."

"I don't think he knows why he was given to me either." Louis answers, turns his head to look at Zayn, his blue eyes bright in the sunshine. "I just get this feeling, mate, like I'm missing something. But I dunno if Harry has the answer. It feels...bigger somehow? Like, it's out of his hands too."

"So what? You're just now babysitting him? Clothing him? Gonna take him to work with ya?" Zayn scoffs, shaking his head. "Lou, I love you, but that's mad. I get that he's fit, but you can't just change your whole life around for some bloke. Heavenly creature or not."

"He's not just some bloke though."

Louis ignores the way the words _he's fit_ sends a shiver through him. It's like Louis has been trying to deny it for the past few days but hearing it from someone else just confirms it. But Harry isn't just _fit_. He's otherworldly. Beautiful. Awe inspiring. He belongs on a chapel ceiling, painted in the finest skill, hung high in galleries.

"Christ." Zayn interjects on Louis' train of thought, suddenly stepping so close to Louis their noses could brush if he tilted his head up a bit more. "Lou, don't do this to yourself."

"Do what?" Louis wants to pull back but Zayn's hand cups the side of his neck, keeps him still.

"I know that look." Zayn forces Louis to meet his eye. "You're gonna start getting in your own head. Reasoning it all out. Guardian angel or cryptid or monster or whatever, you just said he's not human. You can't go catching feelings over something like that."

"He's a someone. Not a something." Louis snaps defensively, brow furrowed. "And I never said-"

"Oh please." Zayn interrupts him, nods his head towards the glass where Harry is working the buttons on a sage green shirt, the sleeves cuffed around his bicep. "He's exactly your type. Like, God crafted him just for you. Those eyes, that hair, _those legs_. Come on Lou, I know you're a leg man."

"Alright, alright!"

Louis ducks out from Zayn's grip, shakes it off and takes another cigarette from his pack. He wants to get back inside, wants to see what Harry picked out, to inspect how the silken fabric probably falls along his curves, hugs him in places that Louis has been thinking about. But he's too afraid he won't be able to stop himself from blushing every time Harry's long fingers pull off another piece of clothing. Like it will be written all over his face - for anyone to see.

"I'm just saying, as your best mate, don't fuck your guardian angel. That's gotta be like instant damnation or summat, yeah?"

"I don't know. And I never said I was going to!" Louis snaps, bites around his filter so he can still talk, his words muffled.

"But you thought about it." Zayn's mouth forms a little knowing smirk, only made worse as he exhales through it. "How long have you had him? Three days? And how has that been?"

"Shut up." Louis says it but there is no heat behind it. How can he be angry when Zayn is calling him out on the truth? "Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do now though? I didn't exactly ask for this. Like yeah, Harry is great. But it's an adjustment, ya know?"

"Don't stress, Tommo. We'll figure it out. You don't have to handle it alone." Zayn, in a sincere act of friendship, reaches out to touch the side of Louis' neck again, cups in a gentle caress. It seems the teasing has finally petered off. "Maybe it's a blessing and a curse? Like, God's gonna save your life but also tempt you? Seems like something that fucker would do."

"I guess." Louis can't really say it with conviction. He thought there was something in the bible about temptation but he's no fucking expert. And it's not like he can call up the local parish and ask how to handle getting a guardian angel for the first time.

“Just, yeah, don’t mention it to him? I’m not sure I was supposed to tell you.”

“Secrets safe.” Zayn makes a mocking little line over his lips, miming locking it up. “Not that anyone’d believe me anyways.”

“I hardly believe it me self.” Louis sighs and there really has been too much of it today. He wants to go back to being quick and mouthy, not so weighed down by his own fucking mind.

"Come on now, lad. Cheer up. Least you didn’t get stuck with an old geezer, staring you down from the corner every night." Roughly patting Louis' cheek, Zayn moves to wrap his arm around his shoulders instead, tugs them until their sides are pressed tight. "Oi, now, come to think of it, how the fuck are you meant to wank now? If he's always around? You gonna pull and have him sitting outside your door like a lonely pup? Listening to you getting it in?"

Zayn doesn't even get a chance to dart away before Louis' hand connects solidly to the back of his head. They scuffled a bit, wrestling like they’re school age boys having a tussle on the street. No one comes near them, a few passing by sparing glances as Louis gets his bicep around Zayn's neck, digs his knuckles into the top of his skull. That really gets him hollering, swearing loudly before the door to the boutique suddenly is thrown up.

"Lads! If you wouldn't mind, I'm running a respectable business here." Niall shouts, his Irish brogue splintering a bit with how he has to project to get over the yelling. "Get your arses inside!"

They both manage to keep bumping into each other, sending elbows and knees against one another. Zayn almost crashes into a rack of feathered hats and scarves, cursing wildly as he windmills his arms a bit to stay up right. Louis just laughs at him, wild and open, a scathing little cackle that gets cut off and lodged the moment he reaches the other room.

Harry is still standing up on the pedestal, wrapped tight in a pair of black jeans, the knees blown out. He's toying with these little tortoiseshell buttons, the length of them only done up half way, leaving his chest open and exposed, nearly all the way to his small navel. It's the shirt though, white lace, done up in tiny flowers and swirls and patterns that Louis isn't smart enough to even know the name of. He looks like a fucking dream, like a cloud king or something else poetic that Louis can't think because Harry is smiling at him. And through the window, just a shard of light seems to be caught between his temples again, a phantom gleam of his halo.

"Do you like it?" Harry asks, voice soft and sincere and only for Louis. Completely disregarding where Niall is standing off to the side, a knowing, wide mouthed grin taking over his face the longer Louis just stands there gawking.

"It's-" Louis wills his tongue to move, wills any words to come out.

"I've never- It's just-" Harry ducks his head, a wave of dark curls ghosting over his shoulder. "It's new. To me."

"You look exceptional." Louis finally gets out, breathy and barely contained.

Harry's face turns a blushing pink, rosy around the apples, looking lovely and serene. He doesn't even seem bothered that the three men are just staring at him, because Louis takes a shuffling step forward, reaches out to touch along the gold cuff at Harry's wrist. The metal is cold, unnaturally so, and etched in fine detail with a language Louis doesn't recognize.

"Whatever you want, angel." Louis encourages, knows he has to do it gently, has to give permission. Because Harry is so new to this and Louis doesn't want to ruin any of it. "Whatever you want, you can have."

"Gluttony is a sin." Harry answers, worries that bottom lip between his teeth.

"We won't tell." Zayn's voice interjects, coming to linger just over Louis' shoulder. "Don't think God would mind anyway once he gets a look at ya."

Louis can't even find it in himself to be annoyed at the easy compliment, at the way Zayn's pretty face looks upturned and awed by standing in the presence of something that is clearly other worldly. Instead, he just laces his fingers with Harry's, holds his hand gently and squeezes their fingers together. It's enough just to be able to touch him like this, to see his smile.

\- - -

True to his word, Louis clocks into his shift at a solid 7:45 and promptly puts Harry in the far corner of the bar. It's right next to the swinging door allowing Louis and Zayn to come out from behind if they need something - another keg or a bottle from the backroom. Louis figures it's the safest place to be - somewhere close and yet still a little cut off from the rest of the bar. It's the seat that someone would take if they wanted to wallow in the bottom of an amber glass, not be socialized.

And Louis' praying it's going to work because Harry is still looking a little too good under those Edison bulbs. Niall had talked him into wearing the jeans, pairing it with a soft looking shirt, a pale blue with its white buttons only done up halfway. It's thin enough that in the right angle, you can see the dark outline of Harry's tattoos, the wings looking foggy and dream-like through the chiffon.

Before Louis can really get a handle on that though, a group of guys in matching fraternity shirts come barreling through the door. They're loud and singing some footie fight song and Louis gets caught up pouring pints and shots. Zayn is manning the other side, full of giggling women in low cut shirts and of course Harry, who keeps his hand wrapped around his water but doesn't drink from it.

The group of men just turn into another and another. Louis does his best to flirt and joke around, gets the tips flowing into the jar set up in the center of the bar, pocketing the twenties and fives slid into his palm by overly eager people with glassy eyes. Being a bartender is a social person's job. It takes every ounce of Louis' extroverted soul to be able to keep up at it, finds it recharging with every conversation he has. Or it does usually. Except every time he feels good, turns to grab a pint or a bottle off the shelf, he finds himself looking for Harry.

It's during one of these times, hand wrapped around a bottle of Jameson and a few shot glasses, that Louis gets to watch the guy approach. He's young, good looking, with a crop of golden curls nestled on the top of his head. He's sporting a lazy sort of jumper with the sleeves rolled up, forearms thin with prominent veins.

Harry looks startled when the guy sits down on the stool next to him, bold as he makes some greeting that has Harry giving a tentative smile. He doesn't look over at Louis during it, instead, changes his hands on the bar so he's curved a little towards the man. And of course he is. Because Harry is a heavenly child of god and must be nice to all humans. He's told Louis so, just not in those exact words.

"Well, look at that." Zayn grins wide, shoulders past Louis to get the bottle of Tanqueray down. "Looks like your angel boy got himself some attention. You gonna let him pull? Someone get a taste for heavenly delight?"

"I really don't know why we're mates." Louis grits out, nearly drops the bottle of whiskey when he hears Harry laugh. It's not the bright, loud one that Louis has heard fill his apartment. No, this one is lighter, breezier. A pretty sort of giggle. The man looks completely enthralled.

"Where the fuck is Niall?" Louis snaps, pours way too much into a glass that's meant to be a Jameson and Ginger. Well, this girl is getting her money's worth.

The Irishman had promised to stop by the pub later, once the store was closed up and cleaned. He and Harry had seemed to hit it off splendidly and when Harry had confessed that he was going with Louis to work that night, Niall couldn't exactly pass up the opportunity. It might have something to do with Louis paying for all of Harry's clothes in free drinks, but no one has to know that.

"Why don't you switch me sides, yeah?" Zayn asks, rolls his eyes a bit. "Before you give someone alcohol poisoning?"

"Piss off." Louis mutters, slides his Frankenstein of a drink over to the girl, not staying long enough to watch her face scrunch up on her first sip. It really was a lot of whiskey. He feels bad long enough to listen to Zayn's knowing cackle before they end up bumping shoulders, switching sides of the long, mahogany bar.

Louis can only control himself for a count of ten, manages to wipe down a single ring on the wood before he's tossing his rag over his shoulder and making his way down. By now, the man has fully turned towards Harry, pinned him back a little into where the corner of the bar hits the wall. Harry doesn't look entirely bothered, blush high on his cheeks, but he still has his hand safely wrapped around his water, the other brushing his hair back.

"Oi, mate. What are you drinking?" Louis' voice is so loud, carries over the music and laughter of the packed pub. He sets the coaster down far enough from the guy that he'll have to turn to reach it.

The man turns, looks mildly annoyed to be interrupted. Louis just flashes him a grin that's all teeth, leans his own hand down on the bar so his hand barely brushes Harry's. It's a selfish move, more for his reassurance than Harry's, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, Harry moves his hand off the water, rests it down so his fingertips are pressed just inside of Louis' own.

"Black and Tan, thanks." The guy answers, turns back towards Harry. "And what for you, love? Something as sweet as you are? A Bramble maybe? Or a Gimlet?"

"He's not drinking." Louis answers for him, doesn't even let Harry open his mouth. And what sort of shitty line is that anyways? Giving Harry some coiling lime cocktail and then trying, what, to get him to go home with him? Like blond guy is even in the same fucking league as Harry.

"What?" Turning back, the guy gives Harry a frown, glances down at the water glass and then their intertwined fingers.

"I said he's not drinking, _mate_ and I'd appreciate it if you backed off me boy." Louis makes a point of nudging his chin back towards the rest of the bar, basically dismissing him back to his friends.

It only takes a moment, the guy looks again from Harry's soft smile to Louis' snarl and he rolls his eyes, slipping off the bar. First rule of any night out at the pub - don't piss off the bartender.

"Fucking twat."

The guy nearly knocks into a group of girls singing loudly to the music, only gives a backwards glance once, disappearing into the crowd. Louis isn't too worried about it. One wanker isn't going to ruin his evening, let alone the business. If anything, he'll probably take his sorry arse out to another pub down the street, whine to one of his mates about his rejection.

"That wasn't very kind. Jerry seemed nice." Harry murmurs, doesn't move his hand from between Louis', instead slips it forward more until his fingertips can trace along Louis' knuckles.

"Jerry was a dickhead." Louis tries to ignore the way his stomach swoops, filled with heat as Harry looks up at him through his eyelashes. The bar lights shine off his hair, make a small ring almost like a mockery of a halo.

"Louis." And it sounds so sweet rolling off of Harry's tongue, all deep and pulled out, stretched like taffy so all the sounds are pulled tight. "I know what he was trying to do. This isn't my first time on Earth."

"Yeah well." Louis reaches out, bold as fucking brass, tucking a curl behind Harry's ear. "Someone has to look out for you."

"Oh, so you're my guardian angel now?" Harry asks, leans just a little into Louis' hand, grins when his fingers trace over his ear.

"Thought it could be a two way street, darling." Louis offers up. And this feels dangerously close to flirting. Somehow Louis really feels like this isn't allowed. "You protect me. I protect you. Mutual and all."

"And what-" Harry laps slowly over his bottom lip, turns his face up just enough that his eyes look brilliantly emerald in the warm light. "Do you think I need protection from?"

Heat swoops low in Louis' stomach, coiling and bright. He can feel his dick twitch in his jeans, reacting to the way Harry is staring at him, teasing and tempting. It's not fair that when Louis drops his eye for a moment, he can see straight down Harry's shirt, sees his chest, the curve of his abs, a line of dark hair leading down and down and Louis' mouth fills with saliva but is so fucking dry.

"I can think of a few things." Louis answers, comes out smoother than he anticipates. Harry's cheeks turn a brighter red, his grin growing the longer Louis stares at him. "So many temptations down here, innit?"

"Yes, but I told you. I'm a good boy." Harry leans in, brushes his hand up to tease along the front of Louis' shirt, traces his sternum. "I'm an angel."

"I know."

Louis thinks about Harry standing in his bedroom with those glorious wings. He thinks about the scent of lilacs in full bloom. Remembers the silk cascading down Harry's naked skin, left bare and so fucking beautiful. And if it's a sin, it's the sweetest of sins, because all Louis wants to do is tilt Harry's head to the side and kiss the column of his throat, to feel his pulse, to taste heaven.

"Oi! There you two are! Sorry lads, about busted me arse trying to get through the door. Christ, this place is packed. Oi, sorry Harry. Don't know if that's a swear to you or not." Niall comes shoving around the bar, his pale face flushed with exertion, sweating a bit at the temples.

Harry is the first to pull back, drops his hands into his lap, mouth forming a startled little O. Louis can't look at it, can't watch the shame cloud over Harry, can't feel the _wrongness_ take over, when just moments ago, it had felt right. It had felt more than right. It had felt ethereal, Had felt like some cosmic connection, of synapses firing in sync for the first time.

"Tommo? Earth to Tomlinson?" Niall snaps his fingers in front of Louis' face. "Guinness please, yeah? And maybe a water?"

"Yeah, yeah." Louis blinks rapidly, spares a single glance over to Harry's blushing face, his eyes downcast at his lap, before he hurries away.

 _Fuck_.

\- - -

Angels are not born the way that humans are. Angels are formed, created, thought up. And then they just are. There are no such thing as baby angels or children angels. There just isn't and then there are. A fully formed ball of light morphed into whatever shape the Most Holy deems necessary. Here on earth, Harry feels like that. Feels like at first he was nothing and now everything is all at once. Overwhelmed by humanity, by the _muchness_ of it.

Harry has been around since time was first created, since the waters receded and formed land. Since Adam and Lilith turned into Adam and Eve. He was just always, like every other angel in Heaven's horde. And yet, he's never been assigned to a human like Louis. Has never even seen a human like Louis before.

It's more of a shock than anything else. Louis burns bright, has a ring around him, an aura that only angels can see. It's the way Harry knows who is sacred and who is going to be damned, can see the shadow of a demon waiting to pounce or the grace of God cradling a human's very soul. It's most prominent in children - newborns so bright that they rival the stars in the very sky.

Harry has seen humans so blessed they are beacons and so shrouded in darkness they are swallowed whole by it. But Louis doesn't burn white hot like salvation, so blinding it hurts to even look at. No, Louis has gold around him. Has warm light, flecks of sky blue and ocean water sprinkled around him in a wave of every churning color. Harry had seen it that first night, had sat on the edge of the bed and watched Louis' dreaming, had seen the swirls of water and sunshine, like a glimpse of the horizon bottled up in one man.

To want is to sin for an angel. They are not made to have desires, to have wills, to have anything other than absolute devotion and love for God and to serve his purpose. That is what puts them apart from humans - angels came first, they are the rough draft. Because angels have no choice but to love God, to worship him, but humans do. They have free will and God loves them most because that is a purer love - one built on trust.

But Harry wants. He wants like he's never wanted before, didn't even know he could want like this.

\- - -

"You want to dance?" Niall asks, motions a hand out to where bodies are writhing to some electronic mix.

Harry has always been a fan of music, has liked it since the first human took a stick to a rock and tapped out a beat. It's progressed a lot since lutes and strings and fairytales sung around campfires. But it's still music, still fills the body up with emotion, with ecstasy of expression.

"Yes, but, Louis-" Harry looks back where Louis and Zayn are leaning together, having a short break between mixing drinks.

"He'll be fine." Niall shrugs it off. "He told me to keep watch on you."

"Oh, it's not that." Harry tucks his hair behind his ear. "I didn't mean-"

"You like him." Niall leans in, drops his voice like someone is going to overhear. "Yeah?"

"Louis is Louis." Harry answers, feels like it's enough. Can tell Niall gets it the moment his grin turns soft, turns a little romantic as he glances between the pair.

"Yeah, he is." Niall takes a long pull of his beer, leans in so his shoulder brushes Harry's. His touches feel different, feel almost innocent. Like when a child touches an angel, can see them before logic and rationality helps cloud them. "I've known Tommo for a long time. He's a good lad. Brilliant, yeah? With a heart of gold. Think he's always had one, just always meant to be the big brother type."

"Big brother?" Harry asks, raises his eyebrow.

"Oh yeah. He's got a whole gaggle of siblings. Oldest of the bunch too. Mum is practically a saint." Niall continues, a fond little smile tugging at his lips. "Lottie absolutely adores him. Like he hung the fucking moon. And Fizzy and the twins and then the other twins. And of course, Zayn and him have been mates for ages. Basically brothers there too."

"It's good that he's surrounded by love." Harry means it. Can't imagine why Louis wouldn't be. He's so fucking bright.

"Just got that energy. Pulls people into his orbit like the blood sun or summat." Niall continues. "Zayn and then me and then Liam - have you met Liam?"

"No, I don't think so." Harry shakes his head. A warm bubble of pride is starting to build in his chest - another sin - but Harry ignores it. It's nice to hear about it, to hear about his human, to know that Louis is good.

"Oh, he'll be around. Always gets a little nervous when Louis and Zayn are on the weekends." Niall's got a loose tongue and a heart full of adoration for his friends - for his family. "Him and Zayner have been dating for a bit, ya know? Probably soulmates. But Liam is a worrier. Gets nervous cause trouble usually happens here on the weekends."

"Trouble?" Harry asks, turns his gaze away from where Louis is back to pouring a round of drinks for a group of girls.

"Yeah, you seen the stitches on Lou's forehead? Took a bottle to the face after he kicked someone out for calling him a fag. Think he would have fought the man in the gutter if Liam and Zayn hadn't carried him away." Niall shakes his head. "But that's just Lou, ya know? Always getting in fights, battling against anyone who does shitty things, trying to be some superhero. Completely wrecked a guy for trying to stick his hand up Lottie's skirt once. Think the guy won't ever walk straight."

"I don't understand." Harry's brow furrows, watches Niall finish off his pint, set the glass back on the bar with a solid clunk.

"Listen, Louis is great. He is. But he gets thrown into shit sometimes. Gets tangled up in the wrong crowd." Niall sighs loudly, shaking his head. "Think he's just trying to prove himself, ya know? Would battle the whole world if it meant proving his was enough, he was good, worth it. Like he'll defend anyone, fight for anyone, but when it comes to himself, he always thinks he falls short. When he doesn't."

Harry thinks about it for a moment, watches Louis laughing loudly with a few people, does a fancy trick of flipping an lemon wedge up to balance on the edge of a drink. It's heavy. It must be so heavy for Louis. To love so much and yet not love himself, to constantly be testing himself, to be proving himself, so that he never feels less.

"Sorry mate, I'm a shite sap when I'm drinking." Niall nudges his shoulder into Harry's arm, flashes him a grin.

"It's okay." Harry gives him a small smile, shakes himself a bit. "He deserves to have nice friends. People who care about him."

"Well, now you're one of those, right?" Niall asks, slips off the stool as he watches Harry nod. "Now come on, enough wallowing, I promised you a proper night at the pub. That includes dancing. And shenanigans."

Before Harry can protest, Niall is already taking his hand, tugging him off the polished wood and onto his feet. He raises his hand to grab the bartenders’ attention, hollering over the blaring electronic beat.

"Oi! Tommo! I'm taking your boy for a spin, yeah? Save me a pint!"

Louis only has a moment to look up, startled a bit, before Niall bodily pulls Harry out onto the dance floor.

\- - -

Louis hates this pub. He hates this day. He hates the fucking crowd that seems to just thicken the closer to midnight they get. And he hates Niall. Has never thought those words before in his life, feels like a shite for even thinking them, but he does in this moment. Because Harry at the end of the bar was a pretty statue, easily digestible, a sort of beautiful eyesore for Louis. On the dancefloor, he's a fucking nightmare.

It's not like Louis really thought about what Harry would look like, arms above his head, swaying to some remixed pop song. He didn't even fantasize about it, and he's glad he didn't, because the reality of it is almost too much to handle. Harry isn't the most provocative of dancers, not like he's trying to be devastatingly sexy. It almost feels like it's a natural thing - like he doesn't notice it.

Niall is in front of him, shielding some of the view, which means Louis really only gets to see the way Harry's hips wind up to the beat. He stays on tempo, the flimsy fabric of his shirt stretching over his back, the strobe lights teasing through to show off the dark lines of his angel wing tattoo. They look almost liquid, twisting and morphing as Harry's body grinds forward, hair tossed over his shoulders. And his ass, in those fucking jeans - it's too much.

"You sure he's not like, a fallen angel?" Zayn asks, sliding up against Louis' side, taking the pint glass out of his hand that Louis' been drying for the past five minutes. It wasn't even wet to begin with.

"G-Guardian angel." Louis stammers, shifts his weight a bit when Harry turns around, Niall spinning him. He's laughing, cheeks dimpled, face rosy with exertion.

"Your drooling mate." Zayn uses the rag in Louis' hand to mop at his chin roughly.

"Fuck off."

It breaks Louis out of his spell, turns away for a moment to smack at Zayn's arm, wrestle the towel away from him. And the thing is, Louis isn't even sure he was wrong. He feels like he's being so fucking obvious but he can't stop. It's like every time he looks over, Harry is killing him with something else - something new. And how is Louis supposed to focus on making drinks and talking to people when Harry moves like that? When he has dimples on his lower back that match the ones in his cheeks?

But of course, like all nice things in Louis' life, it doesn't fucking last. Niall gets bumped back for a moment, someone sliding between the pair, and in the next moment, Harry has been swept up in someone's arms. It's not the guy from before, thank fuck, but this guy is just as bad. A tad shorter, stocky, with a fucking Germany jersey stretched over the bulk of his chest. He doesn't start out slow, grinds his hips into Harry's, loops an arm around his waist.

Harry seems to be listening to something he's saying, head cocked to the side a bit as the guy whispers in his ear. At the same time, he's taken his fingers and started to tease them along Harry's spine, feeling him up, a drunken little fumble with his meaty palms over the delicate fabric of Harry's shirt. Niall is still trying to disengage with the other man that has pushed him back, crowding him out. And Louis fucking knows what's happening before it does - has seen this move before. It's a tag team effort.

Harry tries to take a step back, shaking his head, that polite smile faltering as he tries to turn but is blocked by the other man. Germany guy gets his arms around Harry's waist then, uses the moment to tug him back so they're pressed tight on the dance floor, chest to back, and Harry's panicked eyes find Louis' in the dark room.

Louis' moving before he thinks about it. Hears Zayn call his name, knows he's going to get his ass chewed for this - for abandoning his mate in the middle of a rush, for running into a problem without telling the bouncer. Surely Paul could have handled this. But the man has his hands sliding all over Harry's chest, through the thin shirt, tracing his fingers on Harry's stomach and Louis sees red. He can't fucking help it. He tries to reason he'd feel this way about anyone caught in this type of game, but he knows that's not true.

"Oi, fuckface." Louis snarls, reaches out with sure hands, grips the guy's wrist tight enough and twists. "Take your hands off me boy."

It's the second time tonight Louis has had to say it, rolls off his tongue like it's natural.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man is drunk, clearly, his beady eyes squinting over a puckered face, forehead dripping sweat. "Piss off! I was here first."

"I asked you once. I won't ask again."

Louis manages to yank hard enough on the guy that he stumbles a bit, Harry able to wrench free. He doesn't dash behind Louis as much as presses into his space, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Even in the flashing light, Louis can see his frantic eyes, darting between the men. He doesn't understand.

"Why don't you mind your own bloody business? Didn't see him trying to get away from me, seemed a bit up for it if you ask me. Dancing like that." Germany guy snarls, his mouth full of spit, teeth shiny with it. He reaches out and smacks a hand down on Harry's ass, the sound sharp even through the pulse of the music.

"Now fuck off and find your own easy cunt."

It's like all the air is suddenly pulled from the room, stifling and too hot. Louis feels it like a hood pulled up from his shoulders, the devastating inferno of blind rage - of a wrath so acute it's almost suffocating. He feels every muscle in his body go taut, flexing sharply in tandem, before it all smooths away. All that is left is the blazing in his chest, tongue full of venom.

"Louis, please. No." Harry leans in, his lips nearly brushing Louis' ear. "Don't. It doesn't matter."

Louis wants to listen, wants to relax into the feel of Harry against him, overwhelmed by lilacs and the touch of heaven. But he can't. It's all too quick, all too much at once, Louis pulls his arm back and punches the guy directly in his fat, fucking mouth.

It all happens quickly, like it always does, fast and yet slowed down, stretches in all directions. Louis' hand comes away throbbing, blood on his busted knuckles where they cracked on the guy's teeth. Louis takes a shot to his jaw, the man flailing and shouting, barely getting a good hit in. It's enough to catch on Louis' inner cheek, his mouth filling up with the stale taste of copper.

The man is a fucking tank, slow and drunk and Louis is faster, more skilled, angrier. Another punch into the man's throat, cuts his air off, has him back peddling but Louis is quick after him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way Harry gets shoved, his arms held back by the German's guy's friend, nearly knocking Harry off his feet as he fights against his tight grip. Panicking, he's shouting, voice straining to be heard above the music as people scatter out of the way.

"Louis! Louis don't!"

But Louis can't stop. It just takes over him, a rush to the head. The guy pile drives into him, has Louis' trainers skidding on the slick floor, gets a few jabs into Louis' ribs for the trouble. But Louis is quicker, still fucking smarter, and shoves a fist into the guy's gut in return, has him wretching.

"Domine, exaudi orationem meam!" Harry's voice slices through the air as the DJ turns the music off, people caught up in the commotion. "et clamor meus ad te veniat!"

Louis only has a moment to realize it's Latin, a weird sort of garble in Harry's deep tone, before suddenly Paul is there - huge and angry. He doesn't even look at Louis, just grabs him up by the back of the neck and shoves him towards the far wall, pointing with a long finger at the exit door there. Louis doesn't consider fighting him, holds his hand to his blood streaked mouth and heads out towards the alley, legs still trembling.

The air has gone cold now, the late March still clinging to winter as the spray of rain falls in a bitter mist around him. Louis' head is throbbing, his mouth a mess of blood, as he leans back on the wall, stares up at the night sky. There are too many fucking lights in London to see the stars, not like in the backroads of Doncaster, when he used to lay out on the hood of the family car, would dream about somewhere else.

"You idiot!"

Harry comes out shouting, the backdoor slamming into the brick. He looks a mess, his shirt torn from the man's grabby hands, the hem unraveled at the shoulders, hair tangled. It's not what makes Louis stare, not the only reason. No, it's the glow. Harry is glowing, a powerful sort of white light emanating from around his face, from around his shoulders.

"I am here to protect you! And you just-" Harry makes a wide gesture back at the pub. "And for what? How am I meant to keep you safe if you are reckless over a rude-"

"Darling," Louis starts, tries to interrupt. He's a little overwhelmed though, caught just staring as Harry gets louder. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s illuminating half of the alleyway, the air beginning to fill with static electricity.

"Ignorant humans! So full of your emotions and for nothing! Do you not realize-" Harry is still ranting, his arms spread wide.

"Love, Haz, sweetheart, wait," Louis continues, too afraid to blink. Harry is getting brighter, a full gleam of a halo now nestled in his curls.

"A waste of heaven's love, of its greatest gift, just so you can act no better than base animals-" Harry continues, still shouting, still just continuing on. But now Louis is panicking for a whole other reason, watching as the shadows grow along the wall, turning smaller and smaller the more Harry loses control.

"Angel!"

Louis acts on impulse, his rage turned to sickly fear as he hears the fabric rip. But by then it's too late, Louis' already dashed across the cobblestone, has his arms out. He wraps them around Harry in a vice, biceps on his ribs, hands spread out on his shoulders. It's why he gets to feel the skin split, burn hot and tight. Louis' fingers are in the way when the feathers slide out, get to brush along the full length of Harry's angel cupid wings.

It's like they're frozen in time. Harry stands still, mouth still open, gasping hard at the sudden pain of it. He didn't do it in stages this time, just went from the phantom of idea to the smaller version of his angelic wings. It's not just his wings that have Louis losing his breath though. He's holding Harry in his arms, cradling into him, his face buried in Harry's throat. Here he smells the strongest, like lilacs and sweet, feels soft skin against his cheek, against his mouth.

"Louis." Harry's voice is barely above a whisper.

"It's okay. I'm okay. We're fine." Louis says it before he realizes it. His mouth doesn't ache anymore, can't taste copper on his tongue. Harry must have healed him.

"Oh."

It's so soft it's barely a noise. Harry's fingers are gentle, so tender, when they brush along the back of Louis' neck, up across his jaw. It occurs to Louis that this is probably the first time Harry has ever been touched like this, held, caressed. Louis' been absent mindedly rubbing a hand between where his wings are, touching the skin in slow circles, his other having moved up to touch the edges of his curls. It feels too good to stop, like the highest divinity that Louis' ever felt, better than anything else.

"We protect each other, right?" Louis asks, pulls back far enough to see Harry's green, sparkling eyes. It's like God placed a cosmos in them, bright like the very stars that Louis couldn't see earlier. Maybe he doesn't need the night sky if he has Harry.

"That's not how it works." Harry murmurs, his soft lip disappearing between his teeth.

"Maybe not before. But this time is different, don't you think?" Louis asks. He wants to lean forward, wants to press his mouth over and over and over into Harry's. He wants to taste him, to feel his little gasps and moans against his tongue. He wants it so much it's almost all encompassing, overwhelming need to be close and then closer.

"Yes." Harry's finger comes up, traces along Louis' jaw like he's thinking the same thing. "It is different. You're different."

Before Louis can do anything else, before he can reply, the back door is suddenly opening. Zayn appears with a scowl and Louis' leather jacket in hand, but when he takes the pair in, he just kind of stops - letting the door swing shut behind him with a loud clunk.

"Fuck. You weren't lying."

Harry pulls away first, looks sheepish as he tries to cover up his now bare chest. It really is a shame about the shirt. It could have been one of his favorites, now laying in tattered scraps around his shoes. Louis doesn't seem that bothered, though he does block Harry by stepping in front of him. This all feels a bit too intimate, too raw, for even Zayn to see.

"Paul kicking me out?" Louis asks, tries to ignore the feeling of feathers brushing his arm.

"Just for tonight. Niall saved your arse, telling him what happened." Zayn thrusts the jacket forward. "Go home, Lou. Take Harry. And just...cool it, yeah?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Tell Paul I'm sorry." Louis takes the leather in his hand, doesn't pull it on. The wind is starting to pick up, throwing the mist around with it. "I am, Zayner, I mean it."

"You always are." Zayn says it sadly, around a sigh. He's too distracted by Harry to give Louis his full disappointed look. "Text me when you're home safe, yeah? I'm gonna go drink. And maybe forget I am seeing a bloody angel right now."

He leaves back through the door with a backwards glance, waves his hand a bit. Louis can tell Sunday brunch is going to be an awkward sort, probably with Louis buying a lot of Bloody Marys and Zayn trying to work through his new found knowledge of the divine. Louis isn't going to worry about that now though.

"Here, love." Louis unwraps the jacket, gently places it over Harry's shoulders, crowds the wings under. "Me bikes just at the end of the alley. Let's go home."

Harry doesn't even question it, just takes Louis' hand in his own, lets himself be led out of the dark alleyway and towards the small parking lot. Louis' motorcycle is still parked and chained where they left it earlier, gleaming black with its etched lightning around the hood. He'll think about what all this means later, consider how many of Heaven's rules he's breaking. For now, he just climbs behind Louis, wraps his arms around his waist, and let's his mind go blank. It feels too good to ruin it with shame and fear.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](http://thedevilinmybrain.tumblr.com)


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